The Wolf Hunt
by Lady Silverbird
Summary: Jenny and Connor have been taken and have had their memories torn away, transformed by a mysterious woman. As the team struggles to find their missing friends, they find themselves becoming submerged in a world of magic that stretches the bounds of reality.
1. Transformation

**A/N: this is an all-characters story. Trust me, I'll find a way to fit everybody into this tale, and even toss in a few OCs. WARNING: I have been struggling with the Block of Writers, so do not expect a regular update, though I will strive to post on a semi-regular basis. Constructive criticism is welcome, so long as it's actual criticism and not just hating on the story.**

**Also, this is kinda-sorta based off the "Game Changing" series written by Sar-kaz-m. Meaning that Stephen didn't die (he's too damn awesome to die), Becker and Sarah have joined the ARC, but other than that, this twisted creation is all mine. And AU. So very, very AU.**

* * *

Jenny Lewis woke up with a splitting headache, a throbbing soreness in her left hand, and a bitter taste in her mouth. A low groan escaped her throat as she sat up, an unpleasant rushing sound in her ears. Blinking slowly, she realised quite suddenly that she wasn't at home anymore. She wasn't lying in her bed, even though she was still in a black lace nightgown, barefoot and cold; the source of pain in her left hand was from a bandaged cut across her palm. She was in a cabin of sorts, locked in a large, spacious cage. There was a huge caldron bubbling over a fire. Dozens of shelves bore numerous jars, glittering stones, and drying herbs. Candles flickered from different places around the cabin, centered on a large stone altar bearing several open jars, bowls, a long, wicked-looking dagger, and an open book propped on a stand. There were other cages, though much smaller, containing all sorts of animals: rats and weasels, cats and dogs, small crocodiles and otters, even a large wolf and a snowy owl. What the hell was she doing here? And how the hell had she gotten here?

A soft, pained moan drew her gaze to the left. In another cage beside her own lay a familiar body, now starting to shift. "Connor!" she croaked out, crawling closer to him.

His head of unkempt black hair rose slightly, and dark eyes found her own. "Miss Lewis. What're y'doin' here?" he mumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He moaned softly and cradled his head in both hands. "Ow...I didn't drink, why do I have a hangover?" The words left him in a little whimper.

"Connor, someone's drugged us," she said, reaching through the bars of the cage to touch his arm. "Look where we are. We've been kidnapped."

"You're right about that," said a woman's cool, disdainful voice, and they both turned their heads. Sweeping into the cabin was a beautiful woman, but there was a coldness about her that instantly put Jenny on edge. She wore a dark green dress with golden thread stitched in mystical patterns along the bodice, sleeves, and skirt hem, glistening as she moved. Dark hair tumbled down her back, and icy, blue-grey eyes appraised them both. She seemed… familiar, somehow, like a faint sense of déjà vu, as if Jenny had seen her before but couldn't quite remember where.

Connor wrapped both hands around the bars of the cage; his hand was bandaged as well, Jenny noticed absently. "What do you want with us? Why are we here?" he demanded, glaring at the woman.

"All in good time, pet," the woman replied in her velvety purr. Heels clicking on the floor, she strode over, stuck one hand through the bars of the cage, and yanked hard on Jenny's hair.

"Ow!" Jenny yelped in pain, her scalp burning.

The woman held about a dozen strands of long mahogany hair in her clenched fist. Reaching down, she pulled several hairs from Connor's head as well. She crossed the cabin and approached the stone altar, carefully lying the hair on the stone. Daintily, she began leafing through the book in front of her, apparently searching for something. After a moment of turning, she paused on one page and smiled. "Here we are." Murmuring in a soft language—was that Latin?—she began to pour things into a large bowl, adding powder and liquids and using the blade of the dagger to stir it around. A sharp odour rose from the mixture, and Jenny wrinkled her nose. The woman crossed the cabin and opened one of the other animal cages. She said something in a sharp tone, and the wolf in the cage cringed, whimpering. She seized it by the scruff, dragged it from the cage, and hauled it over to the altar. With one hand still gripping the wolf's fur, she lifted the dagger high with the other hand and then plunged it into the cowering animal. An agonized yowl split the air, cut short as she dragged the knife downward, slitting the creature's belly open from chest to tail. The thick, rank smell of blood filled the air; Jenny gagged. Connor looked green around the gills, eyes wide.

Stone-faced, the woman set aside the dagger and pushed her hand into the wolf's body, making both her captives retch in disgust. It only grew worse as she withdrew her arm, soaked with blood up to the elbow—clutched in one scarlet hand was the wolf's heart. Still speaking in Latin, the woman set the bloody organ on the altar; a small pool of scarlet rapidly formed beneath it. Her red fingers dipped into one pocket and drew out two small vials full of some dark liquid.

_Blood_, Jenny realised suddenly. _That's blood. Our blood, too,_ she thought, looking down at her injured hand.

The woman pulled the corks from the vials and poured them both into the bowl. Her chanting grew louder, and the sharp scent in the air grew stronger, overpowering the scent of blood and death. She poured the thick, stinking concoction onto the wolf heart.

Suddenly, Jenny wasn't feeling too hot anymore. Her stomach roiled sickeningly, churning as if she'd taken it upon herself to swallow a few thousand acid-coated needles. Her skin prickled and itched, blood running hot, head pounding. She made a noise not unlike a cat with a hairball. Beside her, Connor groaned and slumped over, clutching his stomach. She struggled to move, but couldn't. Helpless, she sank to the floor of the cage. Her mind slowed, blurred, seemed to warp, and then snapped back into place. Energy unlike anything she'd ever felt, white-hot and blinding, shot through every fibre in her body as if she'd just been plugged into a nuclear reactor. She screamed in pain, writhing in the intolerable agony of it. The only equivalent to it was being dipped in acid, run over by a bus, and trampled by bulls all at the same time. She dug her fingers into the metal floor of the cage, nails breaking, crying out in pain. Connor was sobbing wordlessly, curled in a ball.

Something inside of her shattered, reformed, fell together, was reborn entirely. A change had occurred, an irreversible and inexorable change in her very being. The pain grew even worse, doubling in ways she couldn't imagine. Jenny desperately wanted to black out, but her mind stubbornly refused to shut down. It felt as if she was being pulled in two. She couldn't see, couldn't hear or feel or smell or even taste anything. And then...quickly as it'd come...it was over. All of a sudden, she felt powerful, lightened. All her pain and achiness had been washed away in a swell of visceral power.

She opened her eyes. Everything looked different. It was crystalline, sharp and clear. Things that'd before been nothing but blurry shadows were now defined in full colour. Then her hearing returned, just as powerful as her sight. She could hear the susurrus of wind stirring the cattails outside on the riverbank, the steady pounding of the woman's heartbeat, the scurrying pitter-patter of the other creatures in their cages. Next to return was scent. It flooded her nose and nearly made her gag. Overall, it was the scent of old, slowly rotting wood, mildew, dust, and a plethora of different herbs and spices, sharpened by the thick scent of fresh blood and animal fear. She smelled the woman, too. It was a rich, musky scent, but not an altogether pleasant one, a mix of cedar wood, smoke, and mildew, a scent of death. And beside her, she could smell Connor: new leaves, fresh hay, and damp earth, clean and bright like a forest after the spring rain.

"My, my, my, aren't you two beautiful?" the woman cooed, turning towards them with a smile on her face.

Jenny tried to spit out a curse, but no words left her mouth. Instead, a grating snarl came out of her throat, and she froze in surprise. She tried to speak once again. No human sound came out of her, only growling and strange whimpering whines. Then she looked down at herself. Instead of arms and hands, there were two grey-furred legs and dainty white paws. She moved her left arm; the left paw moved. She lifted her right hand; the right paw lifted.

_Oh...my...God..._

The woman picked up something round and flat, coming over to stand in front of the cage. She held it up in front of Jenny's face. It was a mirror. Staring back at her was not a woman's face. It was a wolf with golden eyes. Jenny yelped and scrambled back, tripping over her own feet. No, not her feet. Her paws. She had goddamn paws! The woman had turned her into a wolf! She tried to rise and fell, tangled in her own nightgown. As she struggled to get free, she heard a terrified whimper, turning her head.

Where Connor had been lying, there was not a man. There was another wolf, entirely black without any other colour in his pelt, tangled up in clothes as well. When the woman showed him the mirror as well, he howled, the sound ringing in Jenny's ears.

All at once, her horror and shock warped into fury, blinding fury. Her crystalline clear vision became tinted with scarlet, and her tongue tasted of burning metal. Her lips curled away from her teeth, her new, dagger-sharp teeth, and a snarl tore out of her throat, the sound not unlike metal grating together. She lunged for the woman, snapping her jaws at the woman's leg, but she was still in the cage, only succeeding in throwing herself against the bars. She stuck her muzzle through the bars with a snarl, snapping her teeth. Jenny snarled again, then looked at Connor, the larger black wolf trying to get himself free of his own clothing.

The woman straightened up with a laugh, setting the mirror down on the table. "Oh, look at the two of you. Poor little mutts," she said in a mocking whine, then grinned.

_Why, why, why?_ Jenny thought over and over, shaking her head back and forth with a low whine. _Why did she do this to us? Why us?_

With that same icy grin on her face, the woman said something in Latin, and suddenly, Jenny couldn't move. Every muscle in her body had gone rigid, unresponsive to her brain's command. Bending at the waist, one pale hand came through the bars of the cage; Jenny wanted so badly to snap her teeth on that slender wrist and rip it right off, but she couldn't move a muscle. The woman raked her fingers through the thick ruff of fur around Jenny's shoulders and neck, pulling out several coarse silver hairs. Withdrawing her arm, she reached into Connor's cage and did the same thing, taking their hair once more. What the hell was she _doing?_ Taking a step back, the woman murmured in Latin, and whatever force holding Jenny immobile dissipated.

Walking back to the altar, the woman began reciting an incantation once again, her voice ringing with power that made Jenny cringe towards the back of the cage, tail between her legs. God, it was so strange, having to put a name to things she'd never had before. There was a fire burning on the altar, but it wasn't a normal fire. It was purple. Not blue, but the deep, bronze-violet of the ocean at sundown. It belched smoke that stank of burning plastic, a violent assault on her newly-sharpened senses. Then a wave of nausea washed over her. All at once, every bit of fight ran out of her. Her muscles went limp, and she felt like an overcooked noodle, utterly lifeless. Jenny felt a sharp discomfort in her chest; it felt as if someone had opened her up and reached with an alien hand into a place no hand had a right to be and pulled on something precious and secret. She choked on a gasp of sickly nausea, feeling like she might faint or vomit. Accompanying the disgusting feeling of violation was a deep, painful, wrenching sorrow. Memories—places, names, events, faces—slipped away from her, coming away as that alien hand pulled and twisted on her insides. She choked and tried to sob as all that made her _her_ was wrenched away. With a final, disgusting heave, the last vestiges of herself were ripped out.

The she-wolf whimpered and cowered in the metal enclosure that was too small. She was trapped. She could not see the sky or the stars, could not smell the trees or the grass or the earth. No room to run, no place to hide. The only comfort she had was that there was a packmate beside her, a large black male whose scent she recognised. There was a predator there: a human that oozed danger and death, clinging to it like a tangible thing. She cringed away from the predator-human, huddling as close to her packmate as possible, trembling in fear. She had no pack to protect her, and she was trapped. Her only hope was to act as submissive as possible; perhaps the predator would leave them be.

The predator-human picked up a small jar, opened it, and dipped two fingers into the container. Walking to the cage, it threw a small pinch of glittery powder through the bars into she-wolf's face; the thick, cloying scent of roses rushed into her nose. Blackness washed across her mind, and she collapsed to her side, unconsciousness swamping her.


	2. Interrogation and Intimidation

Danny saw her sitting at one of the glass tables in the outdoor café, looking elegant, beautiful, and perfectly coiffured, with a plate of raw beef—whoever made _that_ haute cuisine?—and a glass of sparkling water sitting in front of her. Looking at the woman, nobody would ever believe she was one of the darkest witches in the UK. He hung his motorcycle helmet on the back of his seat, strode up, and dropped into the chair across from her; all around, people stared at him with looks of unmasked disgust. He definitely didn't fit in with the high-end, designer-clad people at this diner, wearing his worn jeans and battered leather jacket. "What did you do?" he demanded, cutting straight to the point.

The witch didn't even blink at his sudden appearance. She had been expecting him, apparently. She set down her fork, delicately wiped her lips with a napkin, and took on an expression of mock innocence. "Who, me?" she asked. "Whatever do you mean by that, Detective Inspector Quinn?"

He was very sorely tempted to pull his dagger on her and start getting real answers instead of her word games, but they were in public, so he resisted the urge, reigning in his more primal instincts. "Don't lie. I know you did something, woman. Don't think that I won't find out eventually. When I do, I'll have you pulled in front of the Council. Not your little mockery circle elders, either. The _actual_ Council," he warned. No matter how powerful she was, this ornery woman would still bow to the will of the Council.

Her smile vanished, replaced by a hard, cold glare. Her eyes were blue, a shade of blue that would've been very pretty had they not been so full of ice and steel. "You'll never prove anything to anybody, _dog,_" she spat. The temperature of the air around them dropped several degrees. "And if you think I'm scared of your little schoolgirl circle...you are gravely mistaken."

The corner of his mouth quirked in a cocky smirk. "You must've flunked biology in school, love, 'cause I ain't a dog," he laughed, knowing that his laid-back attitude would do nothing but stoke her ire. "And those girls haven't been in school for a few years now, so..." He shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes, threw down her napkin, and shoved back from her chair so strongly that it tipped over with a crash, drawing the gazes of the other diners. "Watch yourself, Quinn," she hissed in a deadly warning tone before striding away, stiletto heels clicking sharply on the sidewalk.

He smirked and righted the chair. Once she'd gone, he reached in one pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open. He sent a text to the entire circle: _I was right. She's definitely up to something shady, beyond Midnight—DQ._

A heartbeat later, he had a reply: _Follow her._

* * *

The witch cursed and swore in some of the darkest tongues known to man, and also a few unknown to man, as she strode back into her cabin, barely resisting the urge to slam the door for good measure. Damn Quinn! That stupid animal was going to end up ruining her plans, him and his little pack of snivelling brats. Those girls simply couldn't resist poking their little noses into places they didn't belong, it seemed. She turned to look at her newest successes, the wolves pacing and whining in their cages. She'd have to get rid of them. Anybody with even a half-decent sense of magic could tell that those two wolves weren't true wolves, and if that damned Quinn was so bound and determined to drag her in front of the Council, she would have to minimise the evidence. Never doubt an animal's ability to find other animals.

Turning her back to the cringing animals, she went to the altar and picked up the two clay seals. They didn't look like much—to a human, they looked like two lumps of dried clay with a few pieces of hair folded up in it. But they were far more powerful than that. Making seals like this was highly illegal except with permission from the Crone herself, but rules existed to be broken, in her opinion. That feeble old woman didn't have any bloody right to dictate their practices. They were _witches,_ for Pan's sake! Why should they have to hide themselves from the humans? Humans were brittle, flimsy little things, so easily manipulated, controlled, and broken. By all means, they ought to be ruling the miserable little ingrates. But of course, the Council didn't think that it would be _right_ to use their powers like that. What was the point of having powers if they didn't get to exercise them, then? They were stronger, smarter, better than the humans, after all.

The witch shook her head scornfully, shaking away such thoughts for the time being. Right now she had to find a safe place to put these seals, somewhere nobody else could chance upon them, and then she had to figure out what to do with Temple and Lewis. Getting rid of them was her original plan, but like this, they had so much potential. It was almost a shame to get rid of them, but then again, they were just mutts. She could make more, though any others probably wouldn't turn out as magnificently as these two. What to do, what to do... After a moment's thought, she placed the seals on her altar, fetched the small ceramic jar that contained powdered nightshade, and approached the cages. The two wolves cringed away from her, ears flat and tails tucked. They could sense she was dangerous, a predator. The thought made her smile. Flicking a bit of the powder at them both, she murmured a simple charm to put them both to sleep for several hours. She'd drop them in the Forest, that's what she'd do. Wolves were extinct in the UK, but if anybody found them, the humans would simply think they'd escaped from a private zoo. Nobody would ever be the wiser. It was perfect.

_Think you can intimidate me, dog-boy?_ the witch thought with a truly wicked grin as the two wolves slumped to the ground, deep in an enchanted sleep. _I'd like to see you try. Let's see you prove anything now._

* * *

"What do you mean, you can't find them?" Becker hissed through clenched teeth, fists clenched tightly.

"We can't find them," repeated the soldier hesitantly. "There's no trace of them anywhere, sir. No sign of forced entry in their homes, no sign of a struggle, no sign of anything. They've just...vanished, sir."

The captain resisted the urge to shove both hands back through his hair, hooked his thumbs in his belt, and forced a deep breath. God, Cutter was going to bloody _kill_ him. Yesterday, both Jenny Lewis and Connor Temple had been declared officially missing. Abby had been the first person to notice that her flatmate wasn't at home, wasn't at the ARC, and wasn't answering his mobile. At first, they just brushed it off; everyone needed some alone time now and again, right? But in the morning, he still wasn't home, and nobody could get through to him. When their calls to Jenny went direct to voicemail as well, they began to realise that something was amiss. He'd sent a team of soldiers to check, but his men did nothing but confirm their fear—the PR and the geek were nowhere to be found.

Taking a deep breath, Becker straightened up and went to tell Cutter the news. Walking into the professor's office when he was in a mood was about as safe as walking into a pit of angry snakes. For the most part, the Scotsman was a fairly reasonable and calm bloke, but once he was worked up, his native obstinacy and temper made him a force of nature unto himself. And one surefire way to get him worked up was to threaten/harm the team in any way. Instead of just walking into the office, he stopped and rapped his knuckles against the doorframe.

"Come in."

He walked past the cluttered desk—Cutter had never really grasped the idea of a filing cabinet—to the time map. Becker never knew quite what to make of the odd contraption. He imagined that it could pass for some form of modern art. Dozens of arching metal rods crisscrossed over one another in a wild tangle; some had pieces of string dangling from them, bearing a label of some form or another, lit so that the entire thing shone with a metallic sheen. For some reason, whenever he saw it, he was reminded of a black widow spiderweb. It looked like a crazy mess of strings, but looking closely, there was a pattern to the madness. The infamous Professor Cutter was in the middle of it all, connecting a new arch; standing on the other side of the map, Stephen stood beside their newest addition, Sarah, adding his notes to her calculations. Cutter didn't even look away from what he was doing, either. "What do you want?"

_Ah, yes. Straight to the point, as per usual,_ thought Becker. "There's no sign of Miss Lewis or Mr. Temple anywhere, sir," he answered. "I sent soldiers to her home. She hasn't been there in a few days. Connor hasn't returned to the flat, either."

All at once, the three people in the office turned to look at him; the captain made fast note of their emotions. Sarah looked worried, Stephen frowned, and Cutter... "Damn it all to hell," the professor hissed quietly. "No trace of them at all?" he queried; Becker shook his head. Pushing a hand back through his hair, the Scotsman paced around his office once or twice before he came to a stop, leaning up against his desk. A small frown creased his forehead. "Does this whole goddamned thing practically scream 'Helen' to you too?" he asked.

Becker didn'd know enough about the evil ex-wife yet, just that she was a real piece of work. However, Stephen heartily agreed. "I certainly wouldn't put it past the woman."

Before they could continue down that particular path of thinking, the ADD sounded. "No rest for the wicked, I see," Cutter mused darkly, then they headed towards the hub. Abby had come to join them; a young female tech sat in the chair instead of Connor, typing on the keyboard. He was very sorely tempted to tell her to _get out of Temple's chair_ but bit his tongue. "Tell us where we're going," he said instead.

"Uhm...it's in New Forest, sir, just about dead centre," she answered, pointing at the screen.

"I'll get a team there," said Becker.

Cutter nodded. "Right, then. You three are with me. Let's get a move on," he said, heading towards the door with Sarah, Abby, and Stephen following on his heels.


	3. Protection and Acceptance

**A/N: I've got the rough draft of the whole story almost complete. It's over 25,000 words, and that's only the rough draft and it's not even finished. Just letting you lot know that this is not going to be a short story. But once I am done, I should be able to update much more regularly.**

**To answer your question, aunteeneenah (did I spell that right?) Danny is not a witch at all, though he is friends with them. And because I love you so much, I tried to make this chapter a little longer. :)**

* * *

When the Hilux pulled up, Becker was already waiting; a group of black-clad SFs lingered not far behind him, standing beside a similarly black Humvee. "Right, then, where to?" the captain asked.

"Stephen?" Cutter turned to look at the lab technician.

"I-I dunno. The damn thing's not working," Stephen muttered as he tried to turn on the handheld detector, which did nothing but hiss and crackle at him like it was displeased. He didn't understand what was wrong with it. Scowling, he gave the little device a shake then frowned when he felt wetness on his hand. The handheld was leaking water? He looked into the crate and groaned. "And no bloody wonder. The damn kit's soaked. It must not've been closed up properly before the rain. If ever we needed Connor around," he said, then immediately regretted it as Abby winced slightly at the mention of her flatmate's name.

The Scotsman cursed softly. "Right, then, looks like we're doing this the old-fashioned way," he announced, unlocking the gun crate and taking out a tranquiliser pistol, tucking it into the waist of his jeans. He placed a few more spare darts into a small packet, putting them in his jacket. "Abby, you and Stephen can head out thataway," he instructed. "Sarah, you stay with Becker. I'll start looking over there."

"Cutter..." Becker said in warning tones. He didn't like anybody going off alone, especially not the professor, who seemed to attract danger simply by breathing in the vicinity of an anomaly.

"Cool your heels. I've got my gun, I can take care of herself. Go with Sarah. I'll radio you if I find it," he replied, and without waiting for an answer, he headed off into the forest. Abby and Stephen exchanged glances and started snickering quietly, despite Becker's glower in their direction. Surely the captain ought to have learnt by now that trying to order Nick Cutter around was about as effective as giving orders to a brick wall.

* * *

The silver wolf loped through the trees, smelling the sweet and pleasant odour of damp earth, broken twigs, new leaves, and spring rain; a thin shroud of mist clung to the ground in a mysterious veil. It swirled around their paws as they trotted across the forest. The black wolf trailed along next to her, a friendly, large shadow just at her side. He was entirely black, not another spot of colour in his thick pelt, no white marks on his toes, chest, or muzzle, not even the usual reddish tinge along his back and shoulders. The only other colour on him was the luminous golden-yellow of his eyes, shining bright in his black-furred face. Neither remembered how they'd come to be in the forest, only that they woke together with a thick, unpleasant odour clinging to their fur. She'd rolled in a patch of saxifrage until the scent was gone, and he'd done the same in the wet earth. They trotted through the trees side by side, paws making no sound on the soft ground. She could hear water flowing nearby. Flicking her ears at her companion, they changed direction, following the sound to a clear, burbling creek. She lowered her head to the water, long tongue lapping up the liquid, so cold it made her mouth hurt. In the water she could taste melted spring snow, fed from someplace high and distant.

A sudden shove knocked her forward into the creek with a splash. The silver wolf leapt back out with a yelp, shaking water from her pelt; the black wolf danced away, yipping his laughter as his tail wagged. She showed her teeth at him. He showed his own teeth, and it would have been a most fearsome expression. But then his tongue lolled out in a wolfish grin, and he dropped his forequarters, elbows to the ground, tail wagging in the air: the universal canine signal for play. Unable to resist his puppy-like invitation, the silver mock-lunged at him. They rolled across the ground, barking and pretend growling at each other in delight.

The wind shifted, bringing a new scent to their nose. Instantly, their play ceased, heads whipping around to the direction of the odour. It was old and foreign, something unknown, but it was the scent of a predator, no doubt. However, lingering beneath the predator-smell, there was another trace scent, one that was rich and slightly spicy-sweet. A longing whine slid from her throat as something in her pulled to track that scent to its source, an instinct telling her that it meant safety, a place of comfort and security, a pack. The black whimpered—he felt it too.

She drew on the air once more, opening her mouth slightly to better taste the air. The predator's scent and the familiar one were so closely intermingled, it could only mean one thing—the predator was hunting. A protectiveness, hot and powerful, surged up in her, and she growled softly, the fur on her ruff lifting. She shot forward in a rapid, ground-eating run, the black wolf easily keeping pace beside her as they tracked the scents, following them through the trees. The smell kept getting stronger and stronger, and as they grew near, a new scent joined the others—blood. A growl ripped from her throat, echoed by the black, and they increased the pace, breaking into a sprint.

* * *

Cutter crawled backwards until his back was pressed against the coarse bark of the tree, heart nearly pounding out of his chest as the creature stalked towards him. It was a raptor, his very worst nightmare. The spines along its back and shoulders rattled threateningly, the blue marks on its face and muzzle almost like war paint. Its long claws flexed as it approached him, a soft, burbling growl leaving its throat. His gun lay several feet away in the dirt, kicked out of his reach; the back of his left shoulder was burning in pain where the raptor's claw had punctured the flesh. The creature had sprung from its hiding place, striking him in the back with both feet in a surprise attack, and now it had him cornered against the tree. He was so..._boned_.

The raptor growled again, jaws opening to show its array of shiny white teeth. Cutter swallowed hard, glared the beast in its hateful yellow eyes, and clenched his jaw. "Get it done, then," he hissed through his teeth and hoped that his death would be quick. The creature hissed, lowering its body to the ground as it tensed to spring, stiff tail trembling, muscles bunching.

A ferocious snarling roar startled both man and dinosaur just before something huge and silver crashed into the raptor's flank, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Cutter blinked in shock. Wolves—two of them, to be precise. Massive wolves, they were, Arctic giants from a distant mountain fastness perpetually layered in ice and snow. On their hind legs, they would stand well over a foot taller than even Becker, with deep chests and thick coats. The smaller wolf was silver. Its paws and underbelly were purest white, as were the backs of its legs. Both ears and the tip of its tail were black, with darker marking setting off its lamplike gold eyes, more dark grey streaks in its ruff. The larger of the two was deep black, with no other spot of colour anywhere else in its thick pelt except for its deep gold eyes, now shining with an almost surreal light, and the array of white fangs glistening in its muzzle. Right now, near every hair in their pelts stood erect, bristling until they nearly appeared twice their actual size; deep, ripping snarls tore from the canines.

Wolf and raptor circled each other warily, growling and hissing in challenge. The raptor was taller, longer, and heavier than the wolves, but there were two wolves. Suddenly, the silver wolf darted forward, jaws open in a deadly lunge; foolish, Cutter saw, going straight for the raptor's throat. The reptile would rip it apart with claws and fangs. But at the last moment, the silver twisted aside, avoiding the dinosaur's talons with ease. The black wolf waited until the raptor turned, then darted forward and attacked its exposed flank, tearing into the scaly hide. The beast shrieked in pain. The wolves darted away, light and elegant as dancers, growling quietly. Now injured, the raptor wasn't so confident, taking a slow step backwards from the pair.

The wolves snarled and snapped, feinting towards the beast. The silver darted forward again, but this time the raptor expected the ploy and whipped around before the black could attack. But the moment it turned, the silver completed its lunge. The shriek of pain nearly shredded Cutter's eardrums as the wolf's fangs ripped open a terrible wound in its face and neck, blood gushing from the injury onto the ground. Half-blind and in pain, the raptor gave one last furious hiss before sprinting away; perhaps it would return through the anomaly.

Cutter turned his gaze to the wolves. They were watching the raptor leave, teeth bared and fur bristling; once confident the adversary would not return, the great canines wound down. He wondered if perhaps he could get to his tranquiliser gun before they turned on him. Slowly, he shifted to his right, inching towards the weapon, and a twig snapped beneath him.

The wolves twisted to look at him. In an instant, their entire demeanor changed. Their ears laid back flat on their heads, but this time it wasn't in anger. Whining softly, the canines lowered themselves till they were nearly on their bellies, tails tucked between their legs; whimpering, they crawled towards him, muzzles extended. Cutter blinked in shock, taken off-guard by the sudden change in attitude. They would attack a fully-grown prehistoric predator...but cower from an injured, defenceless human being? The black wolf licked his boot, whining plaintively. Despite his common sense screaming at him to get the tranq gun, he extended one hand, fingers outstretched towards the slender muzzle; the silver wolf lifted its head slightly and licked his hand.

_You've got to be kidding me._

* * *

The smell of the human was so powerful, this close, and the silver reveled in it. He was the source of that scent, that rich, spicy-sweet scent, and it triggered a distant, blurry memory of safety. This human was safe. She could be around him and be safe, she was sure of it. Still, the smell of his fear was powerful. He might think her a threat. So she was as submissive as she could be, lowering to her belly, tail lowered, ears back, whining. She didn't want to hurt him; she wanted to be friends, wanted to partake in that warm security he exuded like an aura.

The black wolf mimicked her actions, groveling and whimpering, even going so far as to lick the human's boot to show he was friendly. _I just want to be friends._ When the man extended one hand towards her, slow and clearly cautious, she lifted her muzzle to lick his fingers, tasting his skin. _I just want to be friends._

* * *

Cutter stroked the silver wolf's fur, still reeling with disbelief. Its fur wasn't as soft as it appeared, but beneath the coarse outer guard hairs was a layer of silken fluff. The black wolf edged closer, stretching up to sniff at his aching, throbbing shoulder. He winced when its long tongue lapped at the wound, but then the pain seemed to lessen slightly. He held still as it licked his shoulder. A soft laugh escaped him as the silver stretched up and licked his jaw, tail hesitantly wagging.

"Alright. Good, erm, good wolf," he mumbled softly. He'd never in his life heard of a tame wolf. He knew that there were some wolves in captivity that were used to human exposure, but there were no completely domesticated wolves that he knew of. Yet these two acted like family dogs instead of the biggest wolves he'd ever seen in all his life.

The radio on his belt crackled suddenly, causing the wolves to recoil. _"Professor Cutter, have you found anything yet?"_ asked Becker's voice.

He unclipped the radio from his belt. "Yeah. There's a raptor out here. I only saw the one, and it's injured so it'll probably head back to the anomaly on its own," he answered. The wolves, realising the radio was nothing to be scared of, returned to his side, sniffing in curiosity.

_"Abby's found the anomaly, and we're going to head back to the truck, follow her there."_

"Alright. I'll meet you there." Clipping the radio back on his belt, he pushed to his feet, wincing again as pain burned in his shoulder, though it was noticeably lessened. The two wolves looked up at him with their golden eyes. As he walked back the way he came, he became aware of the two wolves trailing after him at distance, heads lowered and tails tucked. Every time he glanced back at them, they'd stop walking and take a step back, cringing as if afraid of suddenly being driven off. He stopped walking and turned.

The wolves scampered back a step, whining quietly. He crouched down and patted his knee. "Here. C'mere," he said. Perking up, the two loped towards him and licked his hands. He pushed his fingers through their pelts, roughing the fur of their necks, scratching behind their ears. "What do you want? Eh? Why are you following me around now?" he asked; the silver licked his jaw. Getting to his feet, he looked down at the two massive canines. They looked up at him. "You're not going to leave me, are you?"

* * *

"Where is he? Surely he couldn't have gotten that far away," said Becker, arms folded across his chest as he scanned the trees for what had to be the umpteenth time, leaning against the side of the truck.

Stephen rolled his eyes as he cleaned his gun, systematically checking each gun in the crate. "Becker, you've been around Cutter long enough to know that he does not like soldiers. He's probably just dragging his feet to annoy you," he laughed; Abby and Sarah both giggled slightly as well, though when Becker frowned in their direction, they tried to hide their smiles. The thought alone amused Stephen; the professor _would_ be the one to purposefully take his time with getting back just to irritate the captain. Cutter didn't warm up to anyone very quickly, and it took longer for him to raise himself from permafrost when it came to soldiers.

"Actually, it was a little more than that," said Cutter's Scottish burr, and they turned to look. The professor was emerging from the trees, a small smile on his face.

The first thing Abby noticed was that he was pale-faced, leaves and dirt clinging to his clothes. The second thing she noticed was that the shoulder of his jacket was dark with blood. "What happened?" she demanded, hurrying over to him. Gently she peeled back the shredded edges of the coat and shirt; underneath, there was a long, shallow cut in his shoulder. "That needs cleaning. Come over here." She pulled him over to the Hilux and opened the first-aid kit.

"What happened?" Becker repeated, staring at him.

"Raptor, I told you," he said. "Bastard caught me in the back."

Stephen switched the safety off on the tranquiliser rifle. "Where is it?"

The professor shrugged, then winced as the movement pulled at his shoulder. "Dunno. Thing ran off, probably headed back to the anomaly. It's bleeding, so it shouldn't be too hard to track down—_ow!"_ he snapped, twisting to look at Abby. "A little more careful, if you please."

The petite blond smirked. "Big baby." She wiped the blood away from the cut, the antiseptics stinging in his wound. "How bad is it wounded? And what hurt it? Should we be looking for something bigger?"

Cutter shook his head slowly. "Not exactly," he said softly. Before anyone could ask, he turned his gaze back towards the direction he'd come from. Abby, Stephen, Becker, and Sarah all followed his gaze. The Egyptologist squeaked in alarm, tracker and captain raised their guns, and the blond tightened her grip on Cutter's jacket. Lingering in the space between two trees were the biggest wolves Abby had ever seen in her life. One was bear-like huge and black, the other one was leaner, sleek and silver.

Becker lifted his gun, but Cutter reached out and grasped the barrel, pushing it towards the ground. "Relax. They won't hurt you," he said. "They attacked the raptor, kept it from filleting me any more than I already am. They're tame."

"Cutter, there's no such thing as a tame wolf," said Abby softly. "I worked in a zoo for years, trust me."

"She's right," Stephen agreed, still keeping his sights trained on the wolves. He knew that there were some wolves that were used to human presence, sure, but there were no truly domesticated wolves.

"These are. Watch. None of you raise a weapon, you'll scare them. Take a step back," he said, eyeing Stephen until the younger man lowered the rifle. Becker and Sarah edged back a few steps, the captain tense and the scientist edgy. Cutter patted his thigh, holding out one hand; the wolves loped forward, stretching up to lick his hand, tails wagging, pressing against his legs. They didn't growl at anyone or appear at all afraid of the humans. They seemed no more than owned dogs, perfectly content around other people. "See? No idea where they're from, but they attacked the raptor to save me."

The black wolf placed both forepaws on the tailgate, tail wagging as it looked up at Abby, tongue lolling out in a wolfish grin. She swallowed hard, then hesitantly extended one hand towards the wolf. It stretched forward to lick her fingers eagerly. She couldn't help but smile slightly, pushing her fingers back through the thick fur. She'd never touched a living wolf before and was surprised at how rough its fur felt, though its undercoat was silky soft to the touch. "Where do you think that they came from?" she wondered.

"Must've escaped from a private zoo. There are no wolves living wild in Britain," Stephen answered as he reached out to pet the black wolf. The canine ever-so-lightly grasped his hand between its teeth and shook its head back and forth before letting go. _Just like shaking hands,_ he thought, smiling.

"What do you want to do with them, then, Cutter?" Becker wondered, then sighed quietly. "Please don't say you want to keep them."

The professor grinned up at the captain as he roughed the silver's fur, scratching behind the she-wolf's ears. "I do intend to keep them around. If a fully grown wolf will attack an angry raptor to save my arse then be so kind to me...why not?"

The ever-faithful Stephen jumped in before Becker could open his mouth to protest. "We have a K-9 unit at the ARC, the dogs that track future predators. We can keep these two with them," he added.

"You can't possibly be serious," Sarah muttered. The silver turned to look at the Egyptologist, then loped over to her; Sarah backed up with a squeak of alarm. The wolf reared up on its hind legs, standing several inches taller than her without even being at full height, planted both paws on Sarah's shoulders, and licked her face from chin to hairline, tail wagging happily. Then it fell back on four paws and trotted over to Cutter, jumping up onto the tailgate beside him. Promptly, it laid on its belly and rested his head on his thigh, looking at them with luminous gold eyes.

Becker groaned quietly. God, why did it have to be him that was hired to look after a pack of bloody scientists? It was like herding bloody cats. He didn't know if Cutter was a genius...or certifiable. Perhaps both. Forcing himself to remain calm, he decided to get them back on track. "For now, let's just find the anomaly. We'll talk about those...things later," he said, gesturing towards the two wolves, but even as he said it, he had a feeling that the decision had already been made.


	4. Discoveries

**A/N: Just an FYI, but this story won't follow the show's timeline exactly, though it does take place in S3. And this is where I really start to mess around with the plot, too. I also saw I had some more questions in the reviews, so here's some answers:**

**To aunteeneenah: Patience. Good things come to those who wait. Which means I have no idea when that little snafu gets worked out... It should be fairly soon, though.**

**To guest: Cutter and Abby didn't recognise the wolves as their missing friends because...well, would _your_ first thought be that two animals you met in the forest could possibly be your friends trapped in a witch's curse? And I did put a description of the witch in the first chapter: dark hair, blue eyes, and beautiful but cold.**

**To disgruntled person: I did try to show Connor's funny side when he was playing around, but I thought that attacking an angry raptor was pretty brave... I'm sorry if you didn't like it. **

* * *

Lester's argument with Cutter did absolutely nothing to sway the professor's decision to keep the two wolves around. The only point he refused to back down on was to have the pair muzzled and leashed to ensure nobody ended up in the med-wing with canine bites. After a week, however, the muzzles were left aside, and eventually, so were the leashes. It was quite obvious that the wolves meant no harm to anyone, and they truly did seem to be tamed, strutting around in their neat little K-9 vests with the ARC logo on the back and silver-studded collars. It could be said that the wolves loved the team the very most. They had a sort of cool tolerance towards the soldiers and the dog handlers, but they adored the five main members of the team. Usually, they could be found in a few select places—in the central hub, in Cutter's office, or in Abby's lab. The silver was commonly found with Cutter, curled up on the couch in his office or sitting beside his feet as he worked out equations with Sarah for the time map, and the black followed after Abby as if attached by a string. Even Lester had a begrudging tolerance for the canines in the ARC.

It helped, though the others didn't fully realise it, that the ways of the wolf were no so very different than those of the human being. Both were intelligent, social creatures that organised themselves inside an overall pattern of complex, changing relationships which benefitted the group whilst allowing individual differences. The similarities of social structure and certain characteristics that evolved independently in canine and human allowed a unique relationship to form, still evident in modern day society with the bond between man and the domesticated dog. The black and the silver wolf were quick to pick up on the cues of rank within the ARC, though theirs might have been somewhat different than the humans'. Though Lester was the official 'boss' of the team, both wolves ascribed leadership of the pack to Cutter; wolves ascribe leadership to the male whose presence incites a great reaction in the pack. Other members would crowd around him to lick his muzzle and usually there was a chorus of howling to affirm his leadership. Humans didn't show that kind of deference, of course, but there was a certain sign language that the species shared. In most animals with forward-facing eyes, direct eye contact between males is considered a form of challenge. Cutter had the habit of meeting a person's eyes and staring them down, which is another way that a wolf alpha male would establish his dominance. Whenever he spoke, the others listened to him, and wherever he went, the others usually followed. Stephen, of course, held the time-honoured position of beta male, the faithful wingman and loyal second-in-command. However they were a little unclear on who the female leader of their unconventional pack was. The alpha female of a pack was, of course, the male's mate and was usually the only female that mated and produced offspring. Seeing as how there were no children on the team, and with a lack of other social cues, the wolves ascribed female leadership of the pack towards Abby.

"They need names," announced Sarah, three weeks after the anomaly in New Forest. She was sitting at the desk, working out the new equations to be plugged into the time map; the silver lay at her feet, silently watching them with unblinking gold eyes as they worked. They were the only ones in the ARC at the moment; Stephen and Abby had headed out to an abandoned house the time map predicted an anomaly would soon appear, and Becker was off doing...whatever it was he did between alerts. Security stuff. "I mean, we can't just call them Wolf One and Wolf Two, you know. Even the dogs in the K-9 unit have names," she noted with a glance down at the silver wolf. Abby had taken the black wolf with her and Stephen.

Cutter looked at her through the board he was writing on. "Alright, then, Dr. Page, tell me. What exactly does one name a wolf?" he mused, glancing down at the silver. Insofar, they'd only really been thought of as the black and the silver, not actually given proper names. Even without names, the creatures seemed to know whenever they were being called. A snap of the fingers, a whistle, or even a nod in their direction, and they would be at the ready.

She was quiet for a long time, chewing her lip as she thought about it. "Nitka and Akela," she said after a moment.

"Bless you," Cutter replied.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "No, those are _names_," she said, turning to look at him. "Those can be their names."

Cutter looked down at the silver she-wolf. "How does that sound to you? Nitka?" he asked; the silver's ears cocked forward and her tail wagged, thumping against the floor. "I suppose that means you like it." She gave a little yipping bark. He smiled and reached down to rough the thick fur behind her ears. He wasn't sure why he felt so comfortable around these huge canines when he'd never much liked dogs before, but a little niggling feeling in the back of his mind kept telling him that there was something he was missing, something just beyond his grasp. Shaking his head to get rid of such strange thoughts, he turned back to work.

* * *

Stephen was starting to think that maybe Cutter's model was a tad off. There wasn't an anomaly or a creature in sight, even though this house did have a distinctly 'creepy' vibe to it. He glanced around; given a fresh coat of paint and a bit of sweeping, a house like this would probably go for millions, but right now, it seemed more like a haunted house. _Connor might've liked this one,_ he thought, then winced slightly. Ouch. It'd been almost a month, and they hadn't found a single bloody scrap of evidence, not even a hint as to where they could've gone. Nobody gave up on Connor and Jenny being found...but how exactly did one find what wasn't there? He sighed and shook his head, trying to dislodge melancholy thoughts, then went rigid as he heard the faintest sound of a footstep on the hardwood floors behind him, too heavy to be Abby, and in an instant, he had his gun out, whirling on heel, arms lifting...

...to come face-to-face with a tall, ginger man in a black leather motorcycle jacket, a pistol in hand pointed straight at Stephen himself. "Who are you?" Stephen demanded.

"Detective Inspector Quinn. Who are _you?"_

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Quinn—if that was his real name—gave a small half-smile. "Not a smart move, killing a copper," he replied. He glanced around the abandoned house, tilting his head slightly. "What are you doing, breaking into a house with nobody in it? You another one of them murder tourists?" he asked.

Stephen had never heard of a murder tourist, but from Quinn's note of derision when he said it, it didn't sound like such a good thing. "Nope," he shot back, trying to think of a plausible lie. God, if there was ever a time to have Jenny around to smooth-talk their way out of this. There was a deep, low growling noise, and they both turned their heads. Stephen felt a small grin come to his lips even as Quinn frowned. The black wolf lurked just in the doorway, his thick black pelt bristling until he looked even bigger than he really was, ivory-white teeth glittering dangerously in the dim light. "Oh, look. Backup," he said with a smirk.

* * *

Danny could tell that the man in front of him was entirely human, no trace of anything magical anywhere in his system. Shapeshifters were the unequivocal masters of identifying other members of the Real World, and nineteen times out of twenty, they were correct. He could tell by his stance and the easy way he handled a weapon that this bloke knew his way around a skirmish. The question was, why was he in _this_ house? If he was another bloody murder tourist, he might have to put on his fur coat and start disemboweling people. Well, he might not go _that_ extreme, but he'd definitely be pissed.

As they stood eyeing each other, tossing snipes back and forth at each other, he heard a deep, rumbling growl that could only come from the depths of an animal's chest. He froze, his othersenses prickling and tingling as he picked up a faint trace of..._something,_ though he couldn't quite place it, which was unusual. Keeping one eye on the bloke—still hadn't given his name—Danny turned his head. A black wolf stood in the doorway between living room and front hall, growling and bristling; it wore a studded silver collar and a bulletproof vest like those given to the K-9 unit at the Yard. It was bloody huge, too, more like a small bear than a wolf, probably taller than Danny himself on its hind legs, and _Christ,_ the size of its _teeth..._

"Oh, look," said the blue-eyed bloke facetiously. "Backup."

Danny didn't dignify that with a response, still eying the wolf. He was trying to figure out _what_ it was. It wasn't a true wolf—if it was, his othersenses wouldn't be humming like they were. It was only half-moon, so it wasn't a werwulf or even a _loup-garou._ Which only left skinchanger, but why would they be pretending to be a normal wolf? No self-respecting skinchanger would ever wear a collar. And he was getting absolutely no telepathic input from its mind, either. However, whenever he tried to reach out to the wolf, he felt a chill run down his back, and a bitter taste formed in the back of his mouth. Only one thing could ever cause a reaction like that—black magic. Something seriously wonky was going on here. "Right, mate, you and your little pet there are trespassing," he said, never letting the not-quite-wolf creature out of his sight. "Now either clear out, or I'll be forced to arrest you. Anybody else in the house?" Even as he asked the question, he caught faint whiff of a soft female scent—flowers, natural musk, and something vaguely reptilian. A petite blond woman dressed up in punk-rockette gear came 'round the corner, drawn by the sound of the not-quite-wolf growling.

"Stephen, who's—?" she started to ask, but Danny hastily overrode her.

"Detective Inspector Quinn. Both of you, clear out now. I'd arrest you both for trespassing, and _you_ for carrying a concealed weapon," he added with a glance towards the bloke, Stephen, "but right now I can't be bothered. Now get out. And if I ever catch sight of you two around here again...I won't be so lenient."

Stephen scowled, looking ready to argue, but the blond came forward and grasped him by the arm, pulling him towards the door. "C'mon, let's just go. It's not worth the trouble," she said quietly; the black wolf followed after her as if attached by string, golden eyes never leaving Danny for an instant. He watched them head out the door and start back down the path towards the silver truck he assumed was their ride; he didn't move from the front porch of the house where his little brother went missing 14 years ago until they'd driven away. Once he was certain they'd gone, he pulled out his mobile and texted the others, calling a meeting. They had a lot to talk about.

* * *

Nitka caught a whiff of some new odour on the air. She knew every human by scent and could pick them out from a crowd with ease. The alpha, Cutter, he had a rich and spicy-sweet scent to him, old paper and dirt; Abby smelt of the reptiles she adored so much, of the flowers she tended to, and of her own natural musk. Beta Stephen had a scent, sharp and clean like pine needles and fresh resin, along with leather and deep earth. Becker was easily recognisable, smelling of metal, gun oil, and gunpowder with a faint trace of cologne, and Sarah had a scent of wood lacquer, book leather, and old paper, the smell of a library. The black wolf himself smelt like new leaves, fresh-cut hay, and wet earth, like a forest after spring rain. This new smell, however, was unpleasant and foreign—musty air, cedar wood, smoke, and rotted flesh.

She rose to her paws, shook herself, and loped out from the space beneath the alpha's desk, trying to follow the new scent. She didn't like it here. She wanted it away from the pack. She didn't remember where she had picked up that scent before, but it dredged up a faint recollection of something very unpleasant and bad, a vague memory of cages and fear. Another scent accompanied the predator smell, one that was heavy and musty, not quite animal but not quite human and distinctly dangerous. Her hackles bristled at the scent, and she began to growl softly, barely even aware that Cutter and Sarah were following her.

* * *

Cutter noticed that Nitka was no longer lying peacefully on the floor but was instead stalking forward, creeping out of the office and heading towards the central hub. And not walking, either, but tense and wary, like a true predator stalking prey in the wild. Frowning at the sudden shift in behaviour, he set down his pen, stood, and followed the she-wolf, wondering what had suddenly disturbed her so much. Sarah trailed close behind him, also curious. In the central hub of the ARC, Lester stood along with Becker and two people Cutter had never seen before. One was a tall, slender woman in a no-doubt highly expensive pantsuit, with shiny dark hair and cool blue-grey eyes; the man standing beside her was in a military uniform, greying hair neatly combed, uniform expertly pressed and ironed with creases so sharp they could probably cut cheese. Nitka instantly went rigid, growling softly.

The noise caused the four people to turn. "Ah, Professor Cutter. This is Christine Johnson from Whitehall and her...associate, Captain Wilder," said Lester coolly. "Christine, this is Professor Cutter and Dr. Page, along with one of their little...pet projects," he added with a glance at Nitka.

Christine glanced down at the silver wolf, and a brief flicker of some unknown emotion passed through her eyes before she collected herself once more. Nitka snarled, the sound so abrupt and sudden that they all startled slightly, even Becker of the steel nerves.

"I want that animal on a leash, now," barked Wilder, drawing his sidearm, clicking off the safety, but keeping it pointed at the ground.

Cutter stepped forward, a scowl on his face. "Whoa now, take it easy. There's no need for that," he said. Turning around, he grasped Nitka by her collar, drawing her back; the silver wolf didn't wind down, her muscles locked stiff, resisting him. Her teeth were still bared, the folds of her thick ruff flaring out like a fur cape. Hesitantly, Becker came forward with a long leash—chain, because she could chew through the tough fibre ones like it was nothing—and he clipped it to Nitka's collar, handing it off to Cutter.

With ice in her eyes, Christine Johnson turned and walked away, Wilder trailing dutifully on her heels as she marched up to Lester's office. The she-wolf watched her go with a predator's glare, bristling with teeth bared, hackles raised. Cutter raked his fingers through the thick fur of Nitka's ruff, trying to puzzle out what had gotten into her; in the past several months, neither wolf had never shown any sort of aggression towards people except for the occasional irritated snap when someone accidentally trod on a tail or paw. "What is it, hm? What's wrong?" he murmured as if the wolf would be able to answer him. Nitka was still wary and tensed tight as a snare drum beneath his hands, eyes on the door to Lester's office, glaring through the glass at Christine Johnson. He glanced up at the form of the woman above, trying to puzzle out what it was about her that irritated his canine companion so much.

Some twenty minutes later, as Christine Johnson and Captain Wilder descended the ramp once more, Lester following close behind with a tenseness to his shoulders, Cutter felt the furry body against his leg began to vibrate as Nitka began to growl the low, near-silent growl of an enraged animal. The Whitehall woman stopped to look at the silver she-wolf, an almost-vindictive light in her cold blue eyes. "Dinosaurs, future creatures, and now mongrels. Whatever shall you collect next, Professor? Perhaps some cats? Maybe a few rabbits?" she asked with a cold, sneering grin. She whistled and patted her thigh. "Here, doggie, doggie. Have you trained them to sit and roll over yet?" she asked, grinning widely.

Nitka growled again, the sound low and ferocious, like the noise of distant war. Cutter had no warning as she leapt for Christine Johnson, jaws open for the woman's pale throat, but he was glad that he had the foresight to tie her leash to his desk. The chain pulled taut mid-leap, and for a moment, Nitka stood balanced on her hind paws, taller than Becker, leaning against her chain so hard the desk slid a few inches with a screech of metal on tile. Her fangs gleamed white in the lights of the hub, eyes glowing with rage. Christine made a noise of inarticulate terror, skittering back a nervous step into Wilder, who drew his sidearm and pointed it at Nitka.

Instantly, the she-wolf dropped back onto all fours, pacing to the side away from Wilder's gun hand, yellow eyes focused upon Christine's neck with murderous desire. Near every hair on her pelt stood erect, making her appear twice her already massive size, lips skinned back from her teeth, black ears lying flat against her skull.

Cutter leapt up and caught the captain by the arm. "Put that damn gun down! She's chained up, she can't hurt you!" he snapped. "Nitka, down! Bad wolf. No!"

Nitka rose from her crouch a moment, her gaze shifting to the professor, and her ears flicked forward. Then she looked back at Christine, and they lay back once more.

The woman smoothed out her skirt and regained that cold, dignified expression. She sneered at the wolf again, then turned and marched out of the ARC, heels clicking on the floor sharply. Wilder glared at Nitka for a moment longer before holstering his sidearm; he followed after Christine, slamming the door behind him.

Cutter slowly sank to his knees, wrapping one arm around Nitka's neck.

Lester, who had watched the entire scene in silence, _hmph_ed quietly. "I suppose it's true then," he said.

"What's true?" the professor queried.

"Animals truly _can_ sense evil," Lester replied smoothly, straightening his tie before walking back up the ramp towards his office.

* * *

"I dunno what it is," said Danny as he dropped down into the cushy armchair. He always liked being in this house; it was a proper witch's house. It wasn't some dark, musty cabin with a cauldron and black cat lurking around. It was large and open and bright, with tall, always-clean windows allowing sunlight to spill into the rooms. Also in the room were three other members of his circle: Jess, Emily, and Matt.

Jessica Parker was the owner of the house, a petite little thing at only 19 years old, with dove-grey eyes and soft brown ringlets. She was the Maiden, the daughter of a witch and the granddaughter of a witch, directly descended from Hecate Witch-Queen. Danny loved her like the little sister he'd never had, a sweet, bubbly young woman. Emily Merchant was another witch of the coven, one of Jess's closest friends since childhood; she had an affinity for water magic whereas Jess had earth magic. She was taller than Jess, with a sweet face without makeup, sloe eyes, and curly dark hair, graceful as a dance. Matt Anderson was tall, lean, and Irish, another skinchanger and Emily's familiar. Familiars were the age-old companions of witches, splitting their time between human and animal form. A witch and her familiar shared a mental link that was influenced neither by time nor distance, able to share thoughts and emotions. The bond formed was unbreakable and were companions, friends, helpers, and protectors; they defended their witch with their lives. And Matt made one hell of a protector in the second skin of an Irish wolfhound, large, heavy, and dark, like a small bear beside Emily's petite figure.

Danny pushed one hand back through his hair as he sighed, a frown creasing his forehead. "I mean, it was like a skinchanger, but at the same time it's _not_ a skinchanger." He growled softly under his breath, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair, trying to puzzle out the mystery of the strange wolf. "It wore a _collar,"_ he added.

Sitting across from him on the couch, Matt gave a disgusted snort, scowling at the idea. "Ridiculous," he spat. Even if his animal form was that of a dog, Emily would never think to ask him to wear a collar, nor would he ever stoop to wearing one. The idea of another skinchanger made him bristle with indignity.

"It's what I saw," Danny said, then leant forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. "And there was something else. Whenever I tried to reach out to it, I got nothing. Not like it was shielding its thoughts but _nothing,_ like it couldn't mindspeak at all. And I could feel black magic on it. Not coming directly from it, but hanging around it, like it's been cursed or spelled."

Jess frowned, exchanging a glance with Emily. After a long few minutes of contemplation, the younger woman spoke up. "It sounds like you've met a made skinchanger," she announced. "And one that's been bound and sealed, too."

They were all silent for a moment, brewing on that. Creating a skinchanger was not the easiest task, and only a few witches were skilled enough and powerful enough to attempt the intricate workings required for the spell. Other than the many ingredients, some of which were not easily found, they would have to have one of the animals they wanted to make into the human's second form. They'd also need a bit of that human's blood. The next part of the spell was particularly sickly—the witch would have to kill the animal, capture its spirit, and weave it into the human's, a tricky and difficult process. One wrong move, a slip of the tongue, and they would end up with a mutated half-human, half-animal creature.

After a while, Jess spoke. "I know only five witches that can make a skinchanger successfully," said the younger woman quietly.

"Your grandmother," said Emily. Louisa Parker was an extremely gifted witch with a powerful affinity for animals. She had retired and was now living in Nova Scotia with Jess's cousins, bringing order to the rambunctious lot.

"Vivienne," Danny added. The high priestess of Circle Twilight was living in New York City, recruiting young witches from the New World.

"Winnie," Matt said quietly. Winifred Henderson was on sabbatical in the tropics, abstaining from magic for three months.

"And River." River McAllen—now River Martell—was on her honeymoon with her husband in New Zealand.

"That's four. Which only leave us with..." Emily glanced at her companion.

Jess nodded gravely. That only left the high priestess of Circle Midnight, which practiced the darkest magics. "Yep. Christine Johnson."

* * *

**A/N: just a little footnote on the names given to Jenny and Connor as wolves. Akela was the name of the lone male wolf from _The Jungle_ _Book_ by Rudyard Kipling, and Nitka was the she-wolf that adopted the feral child in _Shasta of the_ _Wolves_ by Olaf Baker. Yeah, I did some research, but I own neither one. I'm just borrowing the names because I liked them.**


	5. Breaking and Entering

"Bleeding hell, Danny, you didn't say that they worked in a bloody _fortress,_" said Jess as she peered out the windscreen at the tall, imposing building that seemed to be made of nothing but shiny windows, guarded by a manned gate, a patrol of black-clad soldiers constantly making rounds. It screamed government to her, and she knew there was no way they could just walk on inside. If Christine Johnson really did make the skinchanger that Danny had met in the abandoned house, then she had done so illegally—a skinchanger could only be made if the Council deemed them worthy of the gift and granted them permission, and as the Maiden of Witches, Jess would have been there during the appraisal. Still, they had to have the skinchanger with them before they could possibly go to the Council. A witch was not summoned based on coincidence and conjecture alone; they would need proof. Danny had been following the humans around for several days and had at last tracked them back to the building they worked at.

Leather creaked slightly as the copper leant in his seat to peer at the front gate. "Maybe, but that's the insignia I saw on the skinchanger's vest," he replied, pointing.

She had to squint slightly, but she could just make out the sign he was pointing to. "A. R. C. What does that stand for?" she wondered aloud.

"No idea. But I'm gonna find out," he replied. Before she could ask what he meant, he'd undone his seatbelt and slipped out of the car.

Jess recognised the look in his eye, and she hastily rolled down her window to call after him. "If you get detained, don't think I'll bail you out!" she hissed; he only waved a nonchalant hand in her direction before heading towards the gate. Groaning, she leant back in her seat and rubbed her forehead with one hand. Hecate save her, skinchangers had to be the most bullheaded creatures the Goddess ever created. After a moment, she started the car and drove away from the kerb. Let Danny handle the breaking and entering. Right now, she had legwork of her own to do—finding out what Christine Johnson had done with the seal.

* * *

Danny waited until the guard passed, counted to five, then jumped the fence. It was really more of a wall than a fence, about two inches of brick and concrete, some fifteen feet high, but it wasn't much of an obstacle. He leapt straight up, caught the top of the wall, and pulled himself up, sliding over and dropping to the ground on the other side. At times he didn't much enjoy being different from everyone else, unable to be like one of the humans, blissfully ignorant of the Real World, but there were also times that he absolutely loved being a skinchanger. This was one of those times, because being what he was made him probably the best B and E expert in the world.

Creeping along, he slipped into a small room, some kind of storage closet, and shut the door before the next guard made his rounds. There were no other doors out of the room, but there was, however, a ventilation shaft. _Perfect._ He stood on top of a crate, prised the grate off the vent, and peered inside. It was just big enough for him to slide through easily. _For a government building, these blokes really need to up their security,_ he thought as he pulled himself up and slid into the vent, pulling the grate closed behind him. It was dim inside the vents, but that didn't do much to hinder his progress as he army-crawled along on his belly through the narrow passage, occasionally having to slither over other vents that led down into occupied rooms. Finally he passed over a grate that seemed to lead down into a small, empty room, like a storage closet or something like it. Grinning, he curled his fingers around the grate and shoved it off with one hard push, popping the fixings like they were made of putty.

He crawled forward, got his feet through the hole, and dropped, catching the edges of the vent in both hands so he didn't fall straight to the floor. As he dropped lightly to the ground on his toes, the door of the small closet/room slammed open, revealing four armed soldiers all in black, closely followed by the bloke from the house, Stephen, and a slightly older man with keen blue eyes and pale hair. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Danny said, hastily putting up both hands to show he was unarmed. He was built a lot sturdier than humans were; as his uncle would say, skinchangers were made to take a lickin' and keep on tickin', but he'd still end up dead if all four men all opened fire on him.

"I don't bloody believe it," said Stephen, shaking his head.

Danny couldn't help but to say facetiously, "You know, you've really got to do something about your security."

The soldier in the lead, a tall, well-built chap with expertly combed hair, arched one eyebrow; the blond man smirked; Stephen rolled his eyes. A low growl drew Danny's gaze downwards. He recognised the slight tingling in his othersenses and the smell of another animal, but instead of the black wolf, there was a lean silver she-wolf, also collared, standing between the two men, looking up at him with glowing yellow eyes, black ears lying flat against her skull. _Bleeding hell, they've got two of them,_ he thought. Just who exactly _were_ these people?

The solder in the lead, probably a lieutenant or captain or some such, holstered his sidearm, took Danny by the arm, and pulled him out of the little room. "Alright, let's go," he said brusquely. "Back to your posts," the man ordered, and the other three soldiers dispersed. Stephen and the other bloke, however, kept on their heels, silver wolf trotting behind.

"What's your name, then?" Danny wondered. The whole point of this mission was reconnaissance, so he might as well start with the basics.

"Captain Becker," the soldier replied as he guided Danny down the hallways. They went past several doors that looked like the led into labs of some sort, but he could only get small glimpses of them as they passed.

Behind him, the blond man spoke in a low Scottish burr. "You know him, Stephen?"

"Somewhat. This is the copper I told you about, from the house an—mission," the other male replied, hastily changing his words; Danny made note of that, storing it away for further inquiry later. "That's Detective Inspector Quinn of Scotland Yard."

Smirking, he turned his head to smile at the human. "It's our second date. You can call me Danny now," he teased.

* * *

She couldn't believe it. It was almost too perfect. She'd intended to remove Lewis and Temple from the ARC, but the little pests still managed to find their way back, it seemed. Granted, it was amusing, seeing how distressed the other members of the civilian team were, worrying about their 'missing' friends without even realising that both were right there in front of them, under their noses. Christine sat in her office, laughing softly under her breath. Goddess, it was always amusing to play games with humans. They were so abysmally _stupid,_ it was hilarious to poke and prod and watch them flinch.

Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes and made her body to relax. Meditation always helped to put her on a much steadier keel. Christine could feel her power swirling around inside her, sliding throughout her veins like liquid lightning, coiling in her spine and tinging beneath her skin. It was working. She could barely believe it herself, but Isis take it, her spell was actually working. And now that she knew it worked, it was only a matter of time before she got hold of the ARC and could carry on with her plans. Everything was falling into place for her, and it felt absolutely splendid. Soon enough, she'd be as powerful as the Crone herself; hell, that wrinkled old bat wouldn't stand a chance against her! Without opening her eyes, she pulled open her desk drawer and took out a hand-carved redwood box held shut with a small silver clasp and several powerful spells. Tracing her finger along the edge of the lid, she murmured a soft incantation under her breath, and the lid sprang open for her. Inside were the two seals. To the inexperienced eye, they were little more than lumps of baked clay with some hair caught up in it; to her, it was only more proof of her growing power.

A sharp rapping on her door drew her out of her meditation. Christine closed the box and re-spelled it, sliding it back into the desk drawer. "What?" she asked.

It was Wilder. "We've got her, High Priestess," was all he said, but the simple sentence was enough to make her grin.

"Excellent work, Captain. Bring her in," she replied. He nodded sharply and strode off. _Skinchangers made such excellent soldiers,_ she mused as he left. They were none-too-bright, but they _were_ good at taking orders. Were-animals tended to be a tad more bothersome, but all animals could be brought to heel with the proper handling. Nearly all of the soldiers under Captain Wilder's command were either skinchangers or were-animals, save for the unit of nightkind that she had watching after the anomaly.

A few moments after Wilder left, he returned with three other people in tow—two of his men and a woman. Whilst the soldiers didn't outright shove the woman into the office, they did help her walk a little faster. "Thank you, Captain. You may go now," said Christine curtly, nodding towards Wilder; he shut the door, leaving the two women alone in the office.

"So...I hear you've been looking for me," said the woman, dark eyes shifting around the office, automatically taking in any possible escape routes.

"And it seems I've found you, too," Christine replied. "Won't you sit down?" She gestured invitingly towards the empty chairs in front of her desk and waited until the human woman had sat before she continued talking. "I have a rather...interesting business proposition for you, one that would benefit the both of us in enormous ways. It's to do with the ARC, actually, and with the team of civilian amateurs that have been a thorn in your side as much as they have been in mine own."

Helen Cutter smiled a cold, predatory grin. "I'm listening."

* * *

Danny was definitely starting to get intrigued by this place. It certainly was interesting. The soldier bloke—Becker—said that he was going nowhere, but just because he was physically confined to one room didn't mean he could explore. This was yet another situation in which possessing animal senses was truly useful. His eyesight wasn't too much better than a human's but smell? He could track an individual scent from nearly 11 kilometres out. So he sat on the metal stool like a good little detainee and let his senses expand. The _clean_ smell of the place hit him first, a cocktail of antiseptic, floor cleaner, and other assorted cleaning chemicals. Then there was the general smell of human beings: cologne, perfume, sweat, soap, and fabric. He easily filtered past these normal, incongruous odours and started focusing on the ones that weren't too horribly normal. Around certain people he kept picking up traces of something...something that he couldn't quite place. It was raw and animal, but it was unlike any animal he'd ever smelt before. Strange, peculiar scents that he'd never picked up before, and that was saying something, hung in the air, especially around the petite blond bird that he'd seen at the house several days ago.

The silver she-wolf never left the Scotman's side so long as Danny was around. He wasn't much surprised. All animals were somewhat wary around him because they could sense that he wasn't quite human. "Why did you break in here?" asked the man, arms folded across his chest as he stared closely at Danny. His gaze was so keen and scrutinising it was a bit uncomfortable, really.

"Slow day at work," Danny replied, and the corner of the man's mouth curled up in a small grin. "Who're you, then? I've already been introduced to Captain Perfect-Hair and Pretty Boy."

The small grin became a full-blown smirk even as Stephen and Becker scowled, both still in earshot. "I'm Professor Nick Cutter."

A door swung open, and in came two women: the punkette blond he'd seen at the house with Stephen and a slightly taller woman with olive-toned skin, shiny black hair, and warm dark eyes. _Good Lord, is this whole place staffed by beautiful women? _Danny wondered. Maybe he ought to consider a career change, start working here until he died of testosterone poisoning. Trotting at the heels of the women, though, was the huge black wolf like a protective shadow. Its ears flicked towards Danny, then lay flat against its head; the fur along its shoulders began to lift and bristle. _Aso...we meet again,_ he thought, watching the wolf carefully prowl around him. "Cutter, I've finished plotting out the equations," said the dark-haired woman. "So I just need you to look over them, and then I can plug them into the model..." She trailed off, catching sight of Danny for the first time; he gave a little wave. "Who's that?"

The blond woman shook her head in disbelief. "Seriously?" she asked.

"Abby, Sarah, this is DI Danny Quinn. He's the one that set off the alarms earlier," replied Cutter as he took the notebook from Sarah's hands and began to look over the pages, all of them well-scrawled on with pen.

Sarah's gaze shifted over to him, eyebrows lifted. "You broke in? Really?" she asked, sounding both impressed and disbelieving; he gave a nonchalant shrug, like it was no big deal that he'd managed to sneak into a military facility like it was nothing at all. She shook her head slowly. Cutter handed her back the notebook, and she left the room, casting glances back at Danny as she went. Abby didn't leave, though, coming around to sit at another table; the black wolf came to sit at her feet, eyeing the copper warily.

"So...what's that machine do, then?" Danny wondered, gesturing towards the five monitors arranged around a single large table, each of the screens bearing a different, constantly shifting display. There was a tech sitting in front of the machine, doing something at the keyboards which he couldn't quite see.

Cutter and Abby both shifted their gazes to him again. They both had blue eyes, though Cutter's were a shade paler and far more intense. "You ask an awful lot of questions, don't you?" the professor asked in a low voice. Again, there was that unnerving stare that felt as if it was looking clean through him; Danny barely resisted the urge to shift in his seat in discomfort.

"Just curious," he replied innocently.

"It's none of your business. Top secret, innit?" Abby's voice had taken on a slightly sharper edge; he'd struck a nerve there, though which one, he didn't know yet.

_Right, then. See if we can't find a subject what's less touchy,_ he thought to himself. "Fine, fine. Where'd you get _those?"_ He nodded towards the wolves. This was a question that'd been itching at him since he first arrived. How they answered his question would tell him whether or not they were in league with Christine Johnson and Circle Midnight. "I mean, that's not exactly something you find in the local pet store."

He noted that when he mentioned the wolves, both Abby and Cutter unconsciously reached down towards the enormous predators, the gesture possessive and almost protective. "This is Akela," said Abby, scratching behind the black wolf's ears. "And that's Nitka." The silver she-wolf's ears flicked at the sound of the name. "We found them in New Forest after—" She cut off mid-sentence, and again, there was that flicker of pain in her eyes, a slight tension that came to her shoulders; her fingers tightened on the wolf's fur before loosening.

Before he could ask, an alarm began glaring, and red lights started flashing. Instantly, both humans were on their feet, quickly joined by Stephen and Becker, walking towards the machine. Danny caught glimpse of the words 'Anomaly Detected' on one of the screens before the tech silenced the alarms, though the lights kept flashing. "Where is it?" Cutter demanded, voice sharp.

The tech read off an address for him. "I'll get a team there," said Becker.

"Good man. Abby, Stephen, you're with me. Sarah comes with," Cutter replied. Normally he would have stayed at the ARC and let the others handle it, but with Connor and Jenny both still missing, he needed to be there with them.

Becker remembered his prisoner and was already thinking of a few soldiers that could keep watch on the troublesome copper, but when he turned around, Quinn was gone. "You've got to be bloody _kidding_ me," he said in disbelief, looking around.

Stephen clapped him on the shoulder. "Worry about him later, mate. We've got work to do."

Outside of the ARC, Danny launched himself over the fence, dropping to the ground and taking off at a sprint down the road; behind him, a silver Hilux pulled out of the front gate, followed by a pair of black Humvees. He didn't have a clue what an anomaly was, but he figured that it had to be important for them to get their knickers in such a twist. The address from the screen was still clear in his mind. On his motorcycle, he could be there probably before they could. Oh, yes, he fully intended to find out what this place was up to.

* * *

"Finally. Something without fangs or claws," Cutter laughed softly as they watched the tiny creatures browse through the greenhouse where the anomaly had appeared; it glittered and sparkled only a few metres away, casting off shimmering gold-white light.

"Oh, my God, they are so _cute,"_ cooed Abby as one of the small beasts came towards her. "What are they?"

"Mussaurus," he answered. "It means 'mouse lizard'. Harmless, really. Late Triassic, herbivores, a kind of prosauropod." The mussaurus was only about a metre tall at the shoulder, looking like a miniaturised version of the enormous long-necked dinosaurs of the Cretaceous, and though he would never say it out loud, Cutter did agree—they were pretty cute. Seeing as how their brains were only the size of a walnut, the creatures weren't particularly bright, and they showed no fear of the humans. For once, it seemed that they were going to have an easy mission—the beasts were so small and trusting, they could easily be herded back through the anomaly.

Abby giggled as one of the mussaurus tried to lick her leg, apparently mistaking her flower-patterned tights for actual plants, but it left her alone once it realised that the fabric was nothing remotely edible.

"Why can't more calls be like this one?" Stephen wondered, laughing as another mussaurus caught the hem of his green shirt in its teeth only to let go just as quickly.

"'Cause our luck is never that good," Cutter replied, and the lab tech snorted. "Alright, let's ship this lot home before something bad happens." Straightening up, he glanced around and picked up a crate of strawberries, prying off the lid. The mussaurus all started coming towards him, drawn by the fragrant smell of the small red fruits, and he walked through the anomaly with all the small prosauropods trailing after him. The sight was oddly like watching a row of goslings trotting after the mother goose. A moment later, Cutter reappeared, carrying the now-empty crate under one arm. "Becker, you might want to keep your men here until the anomaly closes, make sure that nobody gets in," he said, dropping the crate besides the others.

"Mm-hm," the captain said, surreptitiously sneaking a handful of strawberries out of another crate.

* * *

Danny lowered the binoculars from his eyes, still trying to comprehend what he'd just seen. Those had been dinosaurs. Real, actual dinosaurs. There was no mistaking that. He'd gone through the childhood stage of fascination with dinosaurs, and _those_ had been exactly like the long-necked dinosaur toys he used to play with all the time. That strange shimmering light thing—he assumed that was an anomaly—Cutter had just walked through it and disappeared like some kind of magic trick, only to walk out perfectly fine a few minutes later. What the bloody hell was that all about? _Anomaly. Good name for it, alright,_ he thought. By all rights, this was utterly impossible...but who was he kidding? He hung out with a circle of witches on a daily basis and could transform into a bloody animal whenever he wanted to. 'Impossible' was no longer a word in his vocabulary.

Getting to his feet and heading back towards his motorcycle, he mused to himself, _For my first recon mission...I'd say this went pretty good._ Then he smirked. He was going to have a _lot_ of explaining to do when he met up with Jess.

* * *

**A/N: okay, it's a little short, just a bit of filling until I fix the next chapter. My stupid computer doesn't want to cooperate with me, and the muse is being stubborn too.**


	6. Theft and Retaliation

**A/N: sorry it took me so long to update. My muse decided to run away, and I had to go on a manhunt. Or muse-hunt. Whatever. **

**To guest: thanks for pointing that out for me. Akela _was_ the leader of the wolf pack, but he was also called the Lone Wolf. "Akela" actually means "lonely" in Hindi. I suppose I mis-typed there. Hope this clears it up.**

* * *

"They wrangle dinosaurs?" repeated Emily in a deeply sceptical tone, eyeing Danny closely. She lifted one hand to feel his forehead. "Are you feeling alright? Maybe you have a temperature."

He ducked away from her hand with an exasperated sigh. "I'm _serious!"_ he insisted. "I saw it, plainly as I see you now. They were dinosaurs. Y'know, the long-necked kind, only these ones were tiny, 'bout yea high." He held one hand a little higher than his waist, indicating the size of the creatures that he'd seen in the greenhouse. "I'm telling you, these people...they are doing something seriously wonky inside that building. Jess, you believe me, don't you?" he asked, turning to the young woman for some kind of support.

"Of course, I believe you, Danny, but right now, I'm a tad more concerned with these skinchangers. If Christine could actually make two skinchangers, then she is a lot more powerful than I thought," Jess replied, looking up briefly from the heavy book open on the table in front of her. It was the _Abremalin Grimiore,_ a book of magic that'd been passed down through her family for generations, each owner adding their own spells and enchantments to the pages. She had never actually had to unbind someone before, and she wasn't even sure how to do it, which is why she had to consult the grimoire for guidance. Binding spells weren't pretty. There were different kinds, some more powerful than others, but all of them involved a great deal of pain. The kind of spell on the two skinchangers, however, was probably the worst. It was only done to skinchangers, a way to forcibly trap them inside one form. By collecting hair from both forms—animal and human—and then performing the binding spell, a witch could forcibly remove a skinchanger's human side, preventing them from shifting back and removing their human minds, trapping them inside the animal, or vice versa. Until the seal—a piece of hardened clay with the hair of the skinchanger and a spell rune pressed into it—was broken, the spell could not be removed. It was all a terribly painful process that made Jess shiver just to read about it.

The copper frowned slightly and dropped into the empty chair beside her. "How bad are we talking?" he asked concernedly. He knew it had to be bad for it to dampen Jess's spirits.

She sighed, shaking her head as she stared down at the pages. "Bad. I...Danny, I followed Christine today, and...she's got this whole huge building set up. The whole place is surrounded by warding spells and guards: were-animals, skinchangers, witches, even nightkind. It's like she's setting up an army in there. I could feel dark magic oozing out of that place at fifty paces," she said. "She's up to something, and whatever it is...it's definitely not something good."

There was silence for several long moments as they contemplated the idea of Christine Johnson forming an army. It was rapidly becoming clear that she was up to something a whole lot darker than a few illegal skinchangers. Nobody built up an army unless they expected there to be a fight. This was _big,_ and it certainly did not have a favourable outcome for anybody except for her. "Maybe we should call in the rest of the circle," suggested Emily at last. "We have connections with Twilight and Dusk. We could head in there, find out exactly what she's doing."

"No," Jess replied, shaking her head. "I don't want to just charge in there in force. Goddess only knows what else she has inside that place, and I don't want to see anybody getting hurt because of it. No, for now, we just have to...we have to keep close watch on her. We have to try and catch her in the act. Then we could have the right to investigate her fortress." She lifted her keen blue-grey gaze to Danny's. "And we'll start with the skinchangers. I'm certain she'd keep the seals close, but she'd also have them someplace safe. Our best bet is in that building. But since we can't just walk in there..."

"We'll just have to find another way in instead," replied Danny with a wide grin. "I like the way you think, Miss Parker."

* * *

"Are you sure that you want to do this, mate?" Danny asked as he eyed the imposing building that Jess had driven them out to. She was right: he could feel the black magic that oozed off the place even from across the street. It was an invisible aura of dread, one that crept over the skin and insidiously worked its way into the heart itself. It made his stomach hurt, and the fair hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up.

"Absolutely," the young skinchanger replied, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with one hand. "No worries, Dan. I've got this."

Seeing as how Christine already knew that Danny, Jess, Emily, and Matt were onto her, she had reinforced the wards around the complex. There was no possible way any of them could break in...so they'd gone to outside help. The others had been deeply sceptical of Danny's choice of thief, but he'd known this young man for years, knew how keenly brilliant his mind was and how incredibly skilled he was, despite outward appearances. If anybody could manage to creep past Christine Johnson's guard, it would have to be him. As the shorter man started to get out of the car, Danny reached out and caught him by the arm. "You _will_ be careful, won't you?"

Glancing up at the building, Duncan Kelloway gave a small, wistful smile. "Yeah. Caution's me middle name."

"Thought it was Francis," Danny replied with a smirk.

"Bite me." The student glanced around, then vanished into the darkness of a nearby alleyway; a half-second later, out came a small, pudgy brown tabby tomcat with dark markings around its eyes that looked almost exactly like a pair of glasses. The small cat darted across the street towards the complex. Danny followed the creature with his eyes, then sat back in his seat with a low groan. Goddess help him, this was _not_ how he wanted to spend his day off.

Once inside the complex, Duncan shifted back into his human form, shivering as his body re-settled itself before he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small packet of tools. He was probably the best skinchanger thief in all of Great Britain because he'd mastered the incredibly difficult ability to change forms and keep hold of everything in his pockets. Normally, when skinchangers transformed, everything on their person was shredded to ribbons. A little practice, though, and clothing could be kept intact. Anything else, however—wallets, keys, mobiles, anything other than cloth—ended up a twisted, warped lump of junk. Duncan, through years of practice and training, was able to shift forms and keep everything he had in one piece when he transformed back. Like his lock-pick set.

Tongue between his teeth, he unscrewed the control panel and pried it off; behind it lay a tangle of wires, plugs, and conduits, flickering and blinking. After studying the complex electrical set up for a moment, he reached into the small toolkit and pulled out his own set of plugs and a pair of wire cutters. He reached into the panel, unplugged a small grey wire, attached his own plug to the end, and hooked it into another outlet; he cut two wires, stripped the ends, and twisted them back together. Sparks leapt off the wires, hissing angrily. He relocated two more wires into improper outlets. _Perfect._ He screwed the panel back on, tucked his kit back into his coat, and shifted.

Duncan was born a skinchanger. That meant that he didn't have any choice in the kind of animal he became; he'd been a cat since he was an infant and would be a cat the day he died. As cool as it would've been to be a lion or a bear, something really wicked, he had come to appreciate being just a normal cat. It was perfect for creeping around small spaces, slipping past people unnoticed, and getting into places that normal humans. Humans didn't look twice at a stray cat darting about the streets of London; they would definitely look twice at a tiger or a jaguar. _Total stealth mode,_ he thought as he sprang up onto a shelf and wriggled his way into an air duct. Small paws made no whisper of sound against the surface of the duct as he slunk along, peering down through different grates into different rooms—labs, storage rooms, bunks, and supply closets. Not was he was looking for. _I feel a disturbance in the Force, _Duncan thought, pausing slightly as he felt a sudden shift in the air, a tingle along his othersenses that signaled his close proximity to a very powerful witch. Following the eerie feeling, he rounded a small bend and came up to a grate. All his othersenses were humming with awareness, and the feeling of dark magic was practically tangible in the air around him. It made his fur stand on end. Creeping forward as slowly and silently as possible, he peered through the grate.

The duct let out into a neat, professional-looking office with a large metal desk. And sitting in the chair behind the desk was Christine Johnson, the Wicked Witch of the West herself. She was a very beautiful woman, definitely ranking a solid 10 on the hotness scale, but the aura of just outright _malice_ that flowed off her in icy waves was an instant turn-off. Christine was holding something, a small wooden box with a hinged lid. She was running her fingers along it almost lovingly, like it was somthing precious. Duncan didn't move, hardly breathing at all. This was unexpected. How was he supposed to steal the seals from her if she had them in her _hands?_ Sure, he was good, but he wasn't that bloody good!

Salvation arrived, though, as someone knocked on the door of her office. "What?" Christine barked, voice sharp as diamonds.

The door opened, and a tall, well-build skinchanger soldier in uniform stepped in. "High Priestess...there's a problem," he said, though it was clear he didn't enjoy being the bearer of bad news. "Someone has been tampering with the security system, and the sensors are saying there has been a breach in perimeter."

_"What?"_ Christine Johnson repeated, her voice going shrill for a moment. She leapt to her feet, leaving the box on the desk. "It's that thrice-damned Quinn and those simpering Daybreak brats, I know it!" she spat furiously, striding towards the door. She all but shoved the soldier out and slammed the door; the sound of their footsteps could be heard fading down the hallway.

Duncan exhaled slowly. Bast and Sehkmet, Danny owed him majorly for this. He slipped one paw through the grate and with a few prods of his claws, he managed to undo the fixings on the grate and pushed it off, jumping out of the vent onto the floor. He shifted once more, staggering a little as his balance corrected itself. Walking up to the desk, he reached for the little box and hesitated as he felt layers of dark magic radiating out of it. Steeling himself, he lifted the lid. Inside were two pieces of dried clay with hair caught up in it—the binding seals. _Score._ As he picked up the seals, feeling slightly ill even touching the wretched things, Duncan briefly thought about his friends. Former friends. Tom and Connor would have gotten such a kick out of this. He sighed quietly, missing his friends. He wished he could've told them about what he was. They probably would've thought it was the coolest thing.

Shaking off melancholy thoughts, he wrapped both seals in a handkerchief, tucked them into his pocket, and shifted once more, revelling in those few seconds when he didn't have any definitive form and was just a flow of pure energy. Then he was a cat once more and streaking through the air ducts as quickly as was safe. _I am the master. I am a __ninja of the highest levels of awesomeness and none can hope to defeat me! _he thought, giddy with the feeling of success. He scooted out an vent, streaked across the empty car park, skirted a patrol of nightkind, and zipped out the front gate, darting clean through traffic to the other side of the street.

_Dan!_he called out telepathically. _Danny, I got the seals! I did it!_

_Good man, Duncan,_ the copper replied, excitement layering his mental 'voice'.

He darted into the alleyway and changed forms for the sixth time that day. Dizzy with excitement, he staggered back over to the car where Danny waited expectantly, opened the door, and slid into the seat. "Ta-da!" he exclaimed, reaching in his pocket and pulling out the handkerchief he'd wrapped the seals in. "Now, let's go take the bitch down."

Grinning widely, the copper delicately took the seals, put them in his jacket, and started the engine. Now they were really getting somewhere.

* * *

Christine was still muttering a string of angry curses beneath her breath as she ascended the stairs towards her office. Stupid bloody animals. She was tempted to have the skin whipped off their backs, but that would accomplish nothing and leave her down a few men. They couldn't find the perimeter breach because whoever had snuck in was clever enough to sabotage the security system. Scowling, she barely resisted the childish urge to slam the door of her office shut as hard as she could. As she turned back towards her desk, she went rigid.

The small air vent in the corner of the office had been opened, the grate removed and lying on the floor. And the box lay open on her desk. She walked over to the desk, but all it did was confirm what she already knew—the seals had been stolen. Outrage flared up in her with a hot, fiery rush, like a flame that'd just been doused in petrol. Lightning crackled along her hands, and the temperature of the air dropped almost to freezing, a thin layer of frost forming on every surface. With a _crinch_ sound as loud as rifle report, every piece of glass in her office cracked. They didn't shatter, but a web of cracks spread across every inch. The potted plant in the corner of the room shriveled up and died.

This was the final straw. Parker and Quinn wanted a war? Fine. They'd get one. She picked up her mobile, opened it, and speed-dialed her inside man. It rang only once, then the line clicked. He didn't say a word, just waited for orders. "Change in schedule. Do it now," she said icily, and without waiting for a reply, she closed the mobile and tossed it on the desk.

* * *

Cutter paused slightly as he walked down the hallway. Something was wrong. Looking up from the notes Sarah had left for him, he glanced up and down the corridor...and didn't see another living person. Nobody. Not a single scientist or technician or soldier. It was just him. It'd gone almost eerily quiet in the ARC. "Hello?" he said warily; no answer.

Realising very quickly that something was definitely wrong, he hastened down the corridor into his office, hoping to find Sarah or possibly Stephen there. But the room was completely empty. A faint rustle of clothing was the only warning he had before something slipped around his neck from behind, pulling tight across his throat. Cutter let out a startled noise that only emerged a faint wheeze as the wire cut off his air. One hand pulled at the steel thread, scratching himself in the process as the other hand reached behind him for whoever it was holding the garotte, ineffectively yanking at a pair of hard-muscled arms. Whoever it was, they were strong enough to almost lift him off the ground, the toes of his boots barely touching the floor. Dark spots began crowding the edges of his vision, lungs screaming for oxygen. Over the rushing noise in his ears, he heard a low rumble like the sound of distant thunder, and suddenly, the wire went slack around his throat.

Cutter dropped to his knees, gasping and coughing. A shrill scream of pain made his head snap up in surprise. Nitka had a soldier by the throat, clamping bone-crushingly powerful jaws over his neck and severing his windpipe with a single bite; the scream died away into a blood-filled gurgle that faded to silence as the man died. The she-wolf snarled again at the man's corpse before coming over to Cutter, whining softly. "Good girl," he rasped. "Christ, the hell is going on around here?" He grasped the edge of his desk and pulled himself to his feet. He reached down and took the gun off the dead soldier's belt before walking out into the empty hallway again, Nitka silently padding alongside him. He froze suddenly as the sound of a feminine scream, then broke into a sprint.

* * *

Abby pulled the door of her office partially shut behind her as she stepped out into the hallway, then looked up and realised there wasn't another living soul in sight. There was nobody around, which was entirely bizarre. The ARC was staffed 24/7 by soldiers, scientists, and technicians. There was never a time this place was empty. So...where was everyone? Feeling the hair-raising feeling of _danger,_ she started to turn back to the office, but out of nowhere, a hand clamped tight over her mouth, silencing any noise she could've made. Another hard arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground and dragging her into another darkened office. She kicked and thrashed, striking out at the black-clad man with all her strength, but not a single blow seemed to have any effect on his rock-hard body. He threw her against a desk, the impact knocking her breathless; as she gasped for a breath, the man advanced on her, the gleam of a knife in his hand. Panicked terror took control of her mind, and she scrambled towards the door; she let out a scream as loud as she could, praying someone could hear her. Before she got across the room, the soldier lashed out, landing a back-handed slap that snapped her head back. Abby staggered back, tripped on her own feet, and fell onto her hands and knees, ears ringing, the taste of blood in her mouth. A powerful hand fisted around her hair and yanked her head back. The knife swept towards her exposed throat—

She heard a ferocious snarl so deep she could feel the vibration of it in her chest, and then a black shadow came streaking out of the darkness, crashing into the soldier and tearing his weight away from her. She hastily scrambled backwards, trying to put as much distance between her and the soldier as possible. Earth-shaking snarls practically vibrated in her bones, mixing in with the sound of the man's screaming; Akela's fangs gleamed crimson and ivory in the dim lamplight as he ripped into the soldier's flesh, tearing though his body armour as if it was tissue paper. Suddenly the man's screaming cut off as the wolf clamped powerful jaws on his throat, fangs puncturing his jugular. The scream turned into a blood-filled gurgling sound, then died away as Akela wrenched his head upwards, straining with all that powerful muscle. The man's throat came away with his teeth, the sound of rendering flesh filling the air for a moment; his blood felt like warm rain as it fell on her face, almost black in the poor lighting. Still growling, the wolf gave the man's corpse a vicious shake, assuring he was dead before stepping away. Akela stepped away from the body and turned to Abby; his ears lay back, and he began whimpering softly as he crept towards her. He had been told to stay in the other room, and he knew he'd gone against her wishes. But he had heard her scream, had smelled her fear and terror, and had known she was in danger, and he'd sprung to her defence. He wasn't supposed to attack soldiers, though, but that one had been hurting her, and anything that hurt the team was to be attacked. Now, however, he wasn't sure how his misbehaviour would be received; more than anything, he hated being scolded by this woman.

Abby held out both arms; quick to realise he'd done right and his transgression was forgiven, Akela rushed to her. She sobbed wordlessly, threw both arms around the wolf, and clung to him tightly, burying her face in the coarse fur. She wept, both with fear at what'd so nearly happened and relief at its prevention. Akela leaned against her, licking her face; she felt a wet smear of the soldier's blood on her cheek, still staining the wolf's muzzle. She could hear the sound of footsteps outside, the sound of a familiar voice calling her name, and she let out a soft sigh of relief. "I'm here!" she called, voice thick from crying.

The door slammed open, and then Cutter strode in with Nitka on his heels, flicking on the light as he came, flooding the room in bright illumination. When the professor caught sight of Abby's blood- and tear-stained face, he swore aloud, hurrying over to her. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asked quietly, crouching down next to her.

"I'm fine. It's not my blood," she whispered back, grateful for the older man's almost-fatherly presence, his sleeve gently wiping her face. "Wh-what happened to your neck?" Abby lightly touched her neck, staring at the red line around his own throat, surrounded by fast-forming bruises.

"Another soldier. Tried to kill me," he replied shortly. His gaze went briefly to the dead soldier on the floor, then looked to Akela. "Christ, I'm glad we kept those two around. Come on, lass. Let's find the others and get the hell out of this place." He took the pistol from the soldier's belt and handed it to her. Straightening up, he grasped her wrist, pulled her to her feet, and strode out of the room, keeping one hand on her back. There was nobody in the corridors other than them, not another living soul. "Where is everyone?" he said in a quiet murmur.

"I dunno," Abby whispered back, grip tight on the pistol.

The sound of a gun going off made them both whirl around; Akela and Nitka growled softly, ears lying flat against their skulls. Cutter went first, pushing the door open with one foot and lifting the gun in both hands….

…just in time to see Stephen bash another black-clad soldier over the head with the butt of a rifle, knocking him out flat. The tracker glanced up at them, shaking his head. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked.

* * *

"Where is everyone? You said that there were soldiers all over this place," noted Emily as they approached the ARC. Now that they had the seals in their possession, Jess decided it was time to retrieve the two skinchangers from the ARC and break the spell, which would require telling the rest of the very-human dinosaur-wranglers that worked there. It was only the four of them: Danny, Jess, Emily, and Matt. The rest of the circle was readying themselves for whatever retribution Christine Johnson would inevitably throw their way, and it was wiser for them not to show up en masse and possibly present as a threat.

"There _were,"_ Danny replied. "Something's wrong." He walked right up to the front gate and pounded his fist against it. "Oi! Lemme in!" he shouted, but there was no reply. Nothing. Dead silence. It was unnerving and eerie, and he knew for a fact now that something was very, very wrong. "Matt, come help me," he ordered. The two men walked over to a side entrance, and with their combined preternatural strength, pried the door clear off its hinges. The four ran inside, crossing the car park to the main building, pushing though the doors. Again, no soldiers rose to stop them, and there didn't seem to be anybody in the building at all, despite the several cars that'd been parked outside. But with the lack of human scent in the air, Danny could instantly notice something new—it was thick and cloying, the smell of cold and slow decay. There were nightkind in here. Christine had sent her own assassins to the ARC, it seemed.

Reaching up his sleeve, Danny drew his dagger, a long, wickedly sharp weapon made not of metal but snakewood, the hardest kind of wood there was, honed into a deadly point with edges as sharp as any steel blade. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Matt draw a similar set of knives, holding them in a practised grip as they both made their way forward. Jess and Emily followed close behind them, the air around the two women crackling with static as they gathered magic about them.

With a low hiss, a nightkind flew out of the corridor towards them, moving so swiftly he blurred. Matt darted foward just as quickly, driving one blade low towards the black-clad soldier's stomach. As the nightkind moved to parry the wooden blade, the Irishman brought up his other knife and drove it clean between the nightkind's ribs into his heart. The creature dropped to the floor, sluggish black blood slowly oozing out of the wound. Matt wiped the thick black ooze off his knife, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the foul smell. Once more moving forward, Danny heard the sound of fighting, of blows landing and pained grunts, underlaid by the deep, thunderous snarl of an enraged animal. The four broke into a run, dashing down the empty corridor towards the noise, bursting into the main operations room. The rest of the humans—Cutter, Sarah, Abby, Stephen, Becker, and Lester—along with the two skinchangers, were engaged in fighting more of Christine Johnson's assassins, more nightkind and a were-animal, though they were hardly a match for the supernatural strength of the soldiers. Taking a deep breath, Danny ran into the fray, the witches and Matt just behind him. The fight was quickly over, all four of the assassins lying dead on the floor, their clothes flecked with sickly black gore and all of them now nursing a few new bruises and scrapes.

Danny leant up against a table, inspecting a wound on his arm where the were-animal had clawed him a good one, shredding the sleeve of his jacket. _And this was one of my favourites, too,_ he thought miserably as he studied the ruined material. It'd be making a trip to the wastebin for sure. He was aware that the humans were all staring at him, and for a long few minutes, they simply stood apart, staring at each other, an invisible barrier marking the line between _us_ and _them._

It was Lester that broke the silence first. "Mr. Quinn...I've seen you twice in the past week, and every time you appear you seem to bring trouble with you," said the bureaucrat in a deadly level tone. He had bloodstains on his suit jacket and there was a bruise forming on his forehead, yet he still managed to carry an air of unquestionable authority. "I'll give you and your little friends the next twenty seconds to start explaining before I have you all placed under arrest."

No matter the situation, Danny couldn't help but to mouth off. "Wow, I can't imagine you have too many friends, with a sense of gratitude like _that._ You're welcome for saving your life, by the way," he said.

"Fifteen seconds," Lester replied icily.

"Alright, alright, take it easy, mate." The copper straightened up and looked around at the bedraggled group, all of them bloodied and bruised in some form or another, looking like they'd all been put through the wringer. It was a miracle in its own right that none of them had been killed already. "That's the whole reason we're here," he said, gesturing to Matt, Emily, and Jess. "We came here to tell you the truth."

"Which is?" asked Stephen; a cut on his cheek had left blood streaking down the side of his face.

Danny sighed. "You lot are in a lot more trouble than you realise."

* * *

**A/N: so, to make up for the last chapter being so short, I decided to make this one a bit long. And just to torture you, I left the dramatic cliffhanger.**


	7. Spellbreaking

"Are you insane?" asked Cutter, looking up at the ginger copper.

"No, I'm Danny. And I am very serious and quite sane."

The others were all staring at Danny, similar looks of shock and disbelief on their faces. After a trip to the medical wing he had gathered them all together in the central hub of the ARC to tell the human team the truth. All of it. He told them about Christine Johnson and himself and the witches and the two shapeshifters in their company and the real reason he broke into the ARC. Jess, Emily, and Matt stood nearby, watching silently, and even though Jess was the official High Priestess of Circle Daybreak, she had let him do the explaining because the rest of the team already knew who he was. So he'd explained, now they were all looking at him as if he'd just sprouted an extra ear or opened his third eye. Danny put his hands in his pockets and waited.

Abby stood up, walked up to him, cocked back one fist, and punched him in the jaw with all the force her petite body could muster. For such a small thing, she put a lot of strength into it, and Danny took a half-step backwards in order to keep balance. It wouldn't leave a lasting mark—he healed too fast for that—but it still smarted a fair bit. He could've easily stopped her, but he figured that he probably deserved it. "You're sick," she hissed.

"I'm telling you the truth, Abby," he replied, reaching up to rub his jaw. "Those two…." He pointed to the wolves still sitting on the floor gazing at him with dark golden eyes. "…those are not real animals. They might look it, but they're not."

Cutter shook his head slowly, running one hand back through his hair. "I-I can't believe this. Dinosaurs are one thing, but…magic? You're trying to say that they're…what, werewolves?"

This was definitely not going quite the way he wanted it to, but it was never easy trying to convince humans that they weren't the centre of everything like they believed they were, especially once they'd bought into the Conspiracy. _Well, seeing is believing, so..._ Danny glanced back at the others. "Matt, ladies?" he said. They wanted proof? All right.

Emily and Jess exchanged a look, then they both held up their hands, palms facing upward; there was a loud _pop,_ and then bright greenish-blue fire appeared in their hands, flames dancing along their fingers without burning them, licking harmlessly along their skin. Witch fire. The others all leant back with mutters of surprise, staring at the two women's hands with shock. They closed their hands, and the fire vanished without a wisp of smoke remaining. Matt stepped forward. Glancing around at the room to ensure he had their full attention, he leant towards the floor, like he was bending down to pick something up from the ground. But then there was a strange flicker in the air, a mirage-like glimmer, like the faint shimmer of a hummingbird's wings in flight or the flicker of summer lightning. And then the man was gone. The wolfhound was only slightly smaller than Akela or Nitka, covered in coarse, wiry brown-black fur and with blue eyes. At this, every human in the room was on their feet and backing away, even Lester of the steel nerves; the wolves however, were crouched protectively, ready for attack, teeth bared. Matt was sorely tempted to snarl back, but he knew that these two were far stronger than he was and could easily take him apart like he was a ragdoll. So he put his ears back and lowered his head in deference, taking steps back towards Emily; one of her hands came down to curl around the fur of his shoulders protectively. He shifted back into his human form, straightening up and feeling his body adjust once more to being human instead of canine. "Believe us now?" he asked.

"What...what are you?" asked Abby, her voice small.

"I am exactly what Danny told you. I am a skinchanger," he replied, straightening his jacket and fixing his sleeves. His gaze shifted to Cutter. "To answer your earlier question, I'm not a werewolf, Professor. I was born the way I am, I do not change at the full moon, and if I ever bit you, you wouldn't become a skinchanger, you'd just have a bite mark." He placed a hand on Emily's back. "Jess and Emily truly are witches. And your little bodyguards there—" He nodded towards the wolves. "—are the same as I am, except that they have been cursed. They don't remember being human, and they can't change back. They won't ever be able to, either, unless you allow us to help you."

Cutter had a contemplative look on his face, a small frown of concentration appearing on his features. His mind was racing with new possibilities and ideas. One idea in particular was developing quickly, though he hardly dared to believe it, as delicate and fragile as a soap bubble. "You say you can help us," he said at last, speaking slowly as if carefully considering each word before he said it. "How?"

Jess stepped forward now. "Danny told you. We're witches. We have magic that can undo the curse. They'll be able to change back to their human forms, remember who they are," she replied, her voice gentle and coaxing. "But you have to let us help you, Professor."

His gaze flickered down to the wolves once more. "Okay," he said quietly.

"Cutter—" Lester began, voice heavy with warning.

"No. You saw the same thing I did, Lester, and if what this girl is saying is true, I'm going to let her help," the Scotsman replied shortly, overriding Lester. He met the suited man's gaze without flinching, and after a brief battle of will, Lester understood there was no way to possibly win. Cutter had his mind firmly set on this, and there would be no convincing him otherwise. With a begrudging air, the government official gave a small nod of acceptance. Cutter looked at Jess once more. "What do you need from us?"

She smiled softly. Jess hastily scribbled her address on a scrap of paper and handed it to him. "Bring both of the wolves to my house in an hour. I'll have everything ready by then."

* * *

Cutter liked being in Jess's home because it was exactly that—a home. He was sitting in a rather comfortable wicker couch with soft cushions, Nitka lying beside him with head on his lap, in the open studio on the second floor of Jess's house. The windows were tall and clean, but with the overcast, Jess had drawn the curtains closed, and most of the light came from the various candles set around the place in glass cups to catch the melting wax, bathing the room in warm, flickering light. There were floor-to-ceiling shelves of bottles and boxes and containers and vials and books and jars. One whole wall was devoted to trays of various stones—polished and unpolished, rare and semiprecious and common, some engraved with mysterious-looking symbols, some dirty and fresh from the earth. There were herbs of all kind, some hung upside-down from a rack to dry, others stored away in different packets and jars. Instead of a stone altar bearing dried bloodstains and a double-edged dagger radiating dread, there was a large wooden table worn smooth from use. Drawn on the floor in chalk was a pentacle, surrounded by different, letter-like symbols. Trying to follow the designs with his eyes made him feel dizzy. Jess was standing near the shelves of books, muttering quietly under her breath as she browsed the different tomes.

Stephen, Sarah, Becker, and Abby were all in the room as well. Abby was kneeling on the floor, one arm draped around Akela, the black wolf sitting beside her. Stephen was sitting in a chair, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. Becker was entirely impassive. Sarah was sitting in another chair beside Stephen's, chewing on her nails. And Lester was in the corner of the room like a sentinel, watching.

On the other side of the room, Danny was leaning against the wooden table beside Jess, lightly tracing the grain of the wood with his fingertips. Emily walked up to the table, picked something up, and crossed the room to the others of the team. "This is what we stole from Christine Johnson," she said, opening a handkerchief; two lumps of dried clay lay inside, with pieces of hair folded inside them. "They're magic seals, a powerful binding spell that keeps them—" She nodded towards Nitka and Akela. "—from changing back to their human forms, knowing who they are. Once we break them, your wolves will be able to change and remember themselves."

Cutter was silent; he felt like he was Alice Liddell, tumbling down the Rabbithole and trying to think of six impossible things before breakfast. He combed his fingers through Nitka's fur, and she licked his hand with her sandpapery tongue.

"Aha!" declared Jess, pulling a thick, leather-bound book from the shelf. "Knew it was around here somewhere." The book looked like it probably weighed as much as she did, yet she carried it with ease, setting it down on the table. Undoing the small metal clasps that held it shut, she opened the cover and began to leaf through the yellowed pages, most of which were covered in writing that he couldn't recognise. After a few seconds of turning, she settled on one page. "Okay, here we go. Found it." She started speaking in soft Latin, her voice sweet and singing, and Nitka's ears flickered towards the sound, sitting up. She leapt off the couch, approaching the table with head cocked. Cutter felt a shift in the air, as if the atmosphere had somehow thickened, drawing closer to the young woman. Murmuring in the ancient language, Jess poured things into a wooden bowl, adding different things from different jars and pouches. Then she cupped her hands around the bowl, and suddenly its contents were burning, thick, sweet-smelling smoke filling the air. Cutter blinked in surprise—he didn't see her light a match. She picked up one of the clay seals and dropped into the flames. Suddenly the fire flared up high and hot, but it didn't burn orange-yellow or even blue. The dancing tongues of flame were brilliant, glowing green. The smoke pouring from the bowl was shimmered in iridescent colours, more like mist than smoke. A trick of the light or his own imagination, he didn't know, but Cutter could swear he saw the shape of a person in the mist-smoke. Instead of rising towards the ceiling, the shroud snaked downwards, settling around Nitka like a living thing, coiling around the she-wolf's legs and chest and head and tail. It covered the wolf from snout to tail, enveloping her entirely. Through the shimmering, iridescent mist, he could see the shape of the wolf…dissolving, almost, growing hazy around the edges, morphing into something else. Cutter slowly rose to his feet, not quite sure he could believe what he seeing.

The shroud of mist began to dissipate, sloughing away into nothing. And kneeling on the ground where the wolf had been, naked and shivering, was Jenny Lewis. Around her neck was a silver-studded leather collar. "Jesus H. Christ," Cutter rasped out, falling to his knees beside her. Hastily, he tore off his coat and draped it over her. "Jenny? Jenny, can you hear me?"

Dark brown eyes, so very familiar it almost hurt, looked up into his face. She was pale as a lily, her hair in tangles, but a small smile of recognition crossed her trembling lips. One shaking hand lifted to touch his cheek. "N-Nick," she whispered quietly, then fell limp against him; the professor wrapped both arms around her, holding her up. She was barely awake at all, clinging to his sweater like he was the only thing tying her to the earth.

"It's alright. I've got you now. It'll be okay," he murmured, rising to his feet and carrying her to the couch, gently lying her on the cushions. He turned his gaze to Jess; the young woman was watching them with a tiny smile on her face. "What's wrong with her?"

"It's alright. I've got you now. It'll be okay," he murmured, lightly running a hand over hair, smoothing it back out of her face.

"Take her downstairs to the hearth where she can get warm," Emily said gently. "Matt."

Cutter nodded and stood up, cradling her in both arms. The others remained in the studio with Jess as she began putting together the next unbinding spell; he followed the Irishman back down the stairs to the den, carried Jenny to the couch, and gently laid her on the cushions, kneeling beside the couch. He turned his gaze to Matt, and the other man was watching them with an unreadable expression on his face. "What's wrong with her?" he asked softly, looking down at Jenny. She was pale and shivering still, looking almost ill.

"She's been separated from her humanity for a long time," answered Matt, shoving his hands in his pockets. "See, your lass there has been turned into a skinchanger, what people usually call shapeshifters. Thing is, skinchangers are a mix of human and animal spirits, and it's up to us which skin we live in. That human part is what keeps us from becoming completely animal, just like it's the animal part that keeps us from being entirely human. When Christine Johnson changed her…she did the binding spell, tore that human part out, and trapped it in the seal. So the lass has been living as an animal because she was missing the other part of herself. Now that it's back…she's a little shaky at the moment, trying to readjust to being a woman again. She needs you," Matt added, his voice softening slightly. "Right now, she needs you to centre her, remind her who she is."

"And…Akela…he's Connor, isn't he?" he asked quietly, and Matt nodded. Cutter looked down at Jenny's pale face, and he touched her cool cheek with the backs of his fingers. She turned her head towards his hand, murmuring wordlessly. _All those months,_ he thought. _Almost six months we looked for her and Connor both, and the whole time, they were right there with us._ He slid his hands beneath her shoulders, lifted her up, and climbed onto the couch beside her, gently lying her across his lap.

* * *

All her senses felt dulled, as if a blanket had been draped over her, but at the same time, she was splendidly, gloriously _human._ Jenny was shivering, bare skin exposed to the cool air without her fur coat, but even that was wondrous. Her whole body had tremors going through it, having grown so adjusted to its other form. But a pair of strong arms were around her, cradling her against a warm body. _Nick,_ her relieved, shock-dulled mind whispered. She opened her eyes to look up at him. Her vision was no longer sharply defined and powerfully clear, and her colour spectrum was different, but seeing his face made her tremble in relief. She lightly ran her…hand over his soft hair, reveling in the texture; wolves didn't have the best sense of touch, what with tough padded feet and a thick layer of fur over their skin.

Cutter had both arms around her, the warmth of his body stealing into her and chasing away the shivers. His hand gently stroked her hair, mimicking her own actions. He was murmuring sweet nothings in her ear; she never thought she'd be able to hear that thick Scottish burr again. She pulled open her lashes once again, looking up at his familiar face and warm blue eyes, watching her with anxiety and concern. She felt her lips form a smile, though it was hard, remembering exactly how to do that. Wolves did not smile, and she had almost forgotten how to make facial expressions at all. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey yourself. Welcome back, stranger," he said quietly, the backs of his fingers lightly brushing her cheek. He shook his head. A stray lock of hair fell in his eyes, and she carefully tucked it back behind his ear. "We looked for you for months, and the whole time, you were right there under our noses," he laughed, but then his face became serious. "Don't you _ever_ give me a fright like that again, Jenny Lewis. I thought you were _dead."_ He hugged her closer against him, and she burrowed into the embrace happily.

Something moved in her peripheral vision, and a sense of awareness she'd never felt before prickled in warning. Jenny barely resisted the urge to turn her head and snap at the unknown possible threat, and she held to Cutter a little tighter, a low sound building in her chest. Not a threat—it was the tall, lean bloke that didn't smell human but didn't smell like an animal, either, with short-cropped hair and blue eyes. "Here. Thought you might like this," he said in a thick Irish brogue, offering Jenny a quilt.

She hadn't realised it before, but she was entirely naked, save for the professor's military coat and her—Nitka's—collar. Jenny gratefully pulled the quilt around herself, murmuring her thanks; the man nodded slightly before leaving the den. "Think you can sit up now?" Cutter asked her gently; she nodded. With gentle hands, he helped her upright, though she didn't move from his lap. A tiny laugh bubbled from her lips, and he arched one eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"Just thinking that this is probably the only situation in which a bloke can say he's had a naked woman sit in his lap and it _not_ be sexual in the least," she replied.

He snorted, shaking his head slowly. "Jenny Lewis…you are something else."

She felt…_so_ tired. Jenny yawned widely, feeling too weary to even hold her head up, and she dropped her head back onto his shoulder, lashes drifting closed once more. Cutter gently rubbed his hands over her arms and back, trying to create some warmth from friction. Jenny opened her eyes and then went rigid, seeing the raw line around his throat from the garrote wire, marred with faint red scratches where he'd pulled at the steel thread. "Oh, God," she whispered softly, reaching up to lightly touch his neck. Her memories of being the wolf, of being Nitka, were indistinct and blurry, but she could vaguely recall the dead-smelling threat attacking her alpha, leaping on it with fangs bared, and tearing away its throat with her teeth. "Oh, God," she repeated. She'd killed a man.

"Jenny?" Cutter said softly.

She couldn't speak, just put her head into his shoulder, pressing her face into the thick material of his sweater. For his part, he didn't ask anything else, just lightly ran his hands over her hair and arm. Something moved on the stairs, and she turned her head towards the sound. The others were descending the stairs, Lester in the lead with the rest of the team following, including Connor. He was wrapped up in a blanket both for warmth and to hide the fact he had no clothes on underneath, with a very happy Abby practically glued to his side. Coming after them were Jess, Emily, and Danny. It'd taken her a minute to pull their names from her mind, seeing as how the wolf did not remember names quite as well as humans.

Jess placed both hands on her hips. "Right then, now that you believe us, I do believe it's time for you lot to come clean. What in the world are you doing in that building that has Christine Johnson so interested in you?"

* * *

"Dead?" repeated Christine Johnson in muted disbelief.

"Yes, ma'am. All of them," replied the skinchanger that'd reported back to her that the team of assassins she'd sent to the ARC to take care of the humans was dead. He practically reeked of terror, but when standing in the presence of the most powerful witch in Greater London, it was very wise to show a healthy amount of fear. He had to keep his hands tightly clasped together so she wouldn't see them shaking.

Christine, however, was entirely calm on the outside. Her face showed no expression whatsoever, schooled into a blank, unreadable look. First they broke into her building, then stole her seals, and now they were killing her men? Without a word, she looked at the skinchanger, and hardly moving her lips, she hissed out a venomous curse. The soldier staggered back a step as if physically shoved, choking slightly. One hand flew up to his throat, and he began to cough, harsh sounds that rattled in the depths of his chest; blood bubbled out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. He fell to his knees, gasping and gurgling as his face went from pale to red to purple, drowning in his own blood. Finally, he collapsed forward onto his face and lay still. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

"Do say you'll teach me that one," said Helen with a wicked grin, stretched out in a chair, her feet up on the desk. With knife in hand, she began to cut small pieces from the apple she held, eating the slices from the blade.

"I don't understand. How many times am I going to have to kill these damn humans?" Christine hissed, ignoring the other woman.

Helen only shrugged lightly. "I warned you, didn't I? Nick and his team, they're worse than damp. The moment you think you've gotten rid of them, they'll show up again somewhere else." Serious now, she pulled her feet from the desk and sat forward in the chair, elbows resting on her knees. "You're powerful enough to kill them yourself. Why don't you?"

Christine Johnson shook her head. "No, I can't. I might be able to kill Quinn and that other little bitch, Merchant, but Parker herself? No. She's still the Maiden of Witches, and if this plan is to work, her death cannot be connected to me in any way. I've already got the nightkind Council members on my side, and once I convince the skinchanger and were-animals too, I'll be able to challenge the Triad, but not now. I have to have the ARC before that happens," she murmured, more to herself than to Helen directly.

The other woman tilted her head. "Why do you need the ARC? What is it that's so important to you?" Helen asked.

"All in good time, Ms. Ambrose. All in good time."

* * *

"Huh. So you really do wrangle dinosaurs," said Emily weakly as she watched the scutosaurus peacefully graze in the enclosure set up in the menagerie, which also hosted the two diictodons (Abby had dubbed them Sid and Nancy) along with an archaeopteryx that'd gotten stranded with a broken wing the last anomaly alert.

"I _told_ you so!" Danny exclaimed victoriously.

"Not just dinosaurs," Stephen corrected, standing with arms folded beside the young woman. "We also deal with creatures from the future."

Jess's eyebrows shot up. "The future?"

"It's not that pretty. Trust me. I almost got eaten by a future shark once. Not fun," said Jenny Lewis with a scowl of distaste. She looked far more like herself now, dressed up in a black longsleeve shirt and a pair of jeans, her dark hair drawn back in a neat braid. It was incredible to see how quickly she bounced back from the unbinding spell, but Jess had learnt long ago not to underestimate human beings. The PR walked over to the enclosure, looking into the small habitat that contained the diictodons, busily playing tug-o-war with a piece of rope, and her lips curled up in a smile. "Though I have to admit _they_ are pretty cute," she relented, then looked back at the young witches. "So, what do you think? Now that you know what we do here, why is Christine Johnson after the lot of us? I do believe she and I have some unfinished business to attend to." A faint gleam of gold shimmered through her dark eyes when she spoke.

Shrugging lightly, Jess replied, "I'm not sure yet. I don't really understand why she would want you or this place. There's nothing magical about any of you. You're all entirely human. Well, except you and Connor, and besides the dinosaurs and the rips in time, there's nothing here that would appeal to a witch. This place isn't even built on ley lines."

"I'm sorry, _what_ lines?" Jenny asked, baffled.

"Ley lines. It's like an invisible fault line of magical energy, and they cover the whole world like a net. Structures built on them have a concentration of magic energy that a witch can draw power from," Emily explained fluidly.

Before any of them could speak again, the warning alarm of the ADD split the air, red lights flashing. "You lot wait here until we get back," ordered Jenny before she turned and ran out of the menagerie, darting back up the stairs to the central hub where the rest of the team was gathering. "Where's the anomaly at, Connor?"

"We might've gotten lucky. It's out in a packing warehouse. Shouldn't be anyone else there," replied the young man at the ADD.

"Good, let's get going then."

As the team made for the doors, Cutter fell into step beside her, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Never seen you so eager to be off to an anomaly alert," he noted quietly.

She shot him a grin in return. "Well, Nick, after all the weird shite that's gone down in the past few days, I'm just grateful to be doing something normal again," she answered, then paused and shook her head. "Though the fact that I say an anomaly and dinosaurs is 'normal' should probably say something about my lifestyle."

"Yeah. It says that you really do belong here with us in the madhouse," Cutter shot back as they got into the truck.


	8. Politics, Familiars, and Nightkind

"Okay, it's official. I never want to deal with anything like _that_ ever again," Connor chortled breathlessly as he flopped down onto the couch, tilting his head back against the cushions; Rex fluttered down to land on his head, knocking the fedora off his messy hair.

Abby smiled as she sank down beside him, gratefully reclining into the couch. Her arm lightly brushed his, and she could feel the warmth of him. The anomaly had opened into the late Cretaceous, but instead of some massive herbivore or a behemoth predator, there had been a flock of pyroraptors. They were only about knee-high, the size of an overgrown chicken, but they were wicked fast and possessed needle-sharp teeth and tiny-but-sharp claws. Trying to catch all of the tiny reptiles had been like herding cats, and they'd all run themselves ragged rounding the beasts up, forced to catch them by hand because the tranquilisers were too powerful for the tiny pyroraptors.

Abby glanced over at Connor through the corner of her eye. Becoming a...a skinchanger had changed him. There was a sleek sort of animal grace about him now, replacing his inherent clumsiness. When his eyes caught the light at just the right angle, the dark irises flared into brilliant gold and his pupils reflected the light in a greenish-orange sheen, like the eyes of an animal. Or a wolf. But underneath, he was still the same geek that'd blackmailed his way into her flat nearly two years ago. He still went on about _Doctor Who_ and still could quote _Star Trek_ verbatim. She still found his socks in the microwave some mornings. He still begged her to watch sci-fi films on movie night. He was still her Connor. _I've got to tell him,_ she thought. She simply _had_ to tell him.

Connor sat up, pulling her from her thoughts as he stretched both arms over his head. "Okay, I'm gonna take a shower," he said, pushing to his feet.

"Connor, hang about," Abby said, reaching up to grasp his wrist, pulling him back down to the couch beside her. Fear coiled in her belly, tried to choke her words, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to keep talking. "Look, you…you were gone for almost six months. When you were gone, I…." God, why was this so hard to do? Connor was still watching her, a confused, slightly fearful look on his face, as if he was waiting for her to say something cruel, or something like she'd found someone else or she wanted him to move out of the flat. She reached out and took his hand in both hers. "I'm…I missed you, Connor. So much," she whispered, keeping her gaze on their entwined hands.

"I'm here now, Abby," he replied gently and lightly stroked his thumb across the soft skin on the back of her hand. When he'd been caught up in his wolf form, unable to think like a man, only thinking as a wolf, he had seen her crying alone in her office, whispering his name. Though the wolf did not recognise her words or her tears, Akela did know her sorrow. He was honestly surprised at how grieved she'd been about his disappearance; he hadn't thought she cared so much.

"I know, but…." She took a deep breath, trying to think of a way to put into words the epiphany she'd had—_it took you disappearing for six months and me thinking that you could be dead or being tortured somewhere to realise that I love you so much it hurts, and I want to be with you even though I'm scared out of my bloody mind because I don't want you to disappear again without knowing I love you. _Abby bit her lower lip. Damn it, this was simply way too hard. She'd never told a man she loved him, never actually said those three little words that were far from simple. Finally, she lifted her gaze to Connor. He was still watching her closely, his large dark eyes focused entirely on her, and seeing his open, expressive face, the fear she felt eased off. Why was she scared? This was _Connor._ He'd never hurt her for any reason, even if her happiness meant giving up his own. He would let himself be wounded before he hurt her. He was so open, so caring, and she knew that if she told him she loved him, he would be wholly, completely loyal to her. Connor would let a lover hold him and keep him for as long as he was wanted, and in turn, he would give her nothing but adoration and kindness and love.

Her fear lessened and her confidence renewed, she scooted a little closer to him, clasping his hand tighter in her own. "Connor, you were gone six months. When you were gone, I was…so lonely, and I missed you so much. I didn't know that I could ever miss someone so much, that I could ever be that lonely. I missed your videogames and your sci-fi movie nights and your _Doctor Who_ marathons. I even missed finding your socks in the microwave," she said with a weak laugh, and his cheeks turned faintly pink, ducking his head in embarrassment. Abby placed her fingers under his chin and lifted his gaze back to hers. "And I finally figured it out. I'm sorry it took me so long, and for being such a thick prat about it."

"Abby—" he started to say, but she lightly touched a finger to his lips.

"Hush. Let me finish. What I'm saying, Connor, is…I love you."

He made a soft noise in the back of her throat almost like a whimper. "Y-you do?" he whispered raggedly.

Some women might have been insulted that 'I love you' weren't the first words out of his mouth, but Abby could see the disbelief in his eyes, the growing incredulity there as he realised she wasn't playing some cruel prank or joking around. "Yes, I do. I love you. I'm not scared to say it anymore. I love you, Connor Temple," she replied.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence, and she felt a faint tremor of fear... Then his hands were cupping her face, pulling her towards him; Abby willingly leant into him, her lips meeting his own, arms sliding around his neck. His lips were warm, soft, and sweet against hers, moving with amazing tenderness. She reached up and buried her hands into his hair, tangling her fingers around the thick, soft strands. Slowly, she leant back against the couch, drawing him over on top of her. She could feel his warmth, his heartbeat, and his breathing. She felt his ever-present silver ring pressing against her own chest. Connor broke away from the kiss first, but then his lips trailed a warm path down her jaw to her throat, his breath dancing across her skin. She turned her head slightly, pressed her nose into his soft hair, and inhaled; he even smelt good, like new leaves and fresh hay and damp soil, a spring forest right after the rain. Abby shivered as his teeth lightly raked her neck before his mouth returned to her own for another kiss. He parted her lips with his own, and a little shiver went through her as their tongues met halfway. He smelt good, but God, he tasted even better, a heady, rich flavour that went straight to her head like a drug.

For several moments, the only sound was the soft sounds of them snogging the living daylights from each other, hands lightly stroking and caressing through their clothes. "I love you, Abby," he whispered when they pulled apart enough to breathe. "I love you so much."

She smiled and lightly pushed on his shoulders, making him sit up. Worming out from under him, she got to her feet, grasped his hand in hers, pulled him to his feet, and led him up the stairs to the loft.

* * *

Connor watched Abby sleep, propped up on one elbow and lightly stroking her hair with his fingertips. They hadn't done anything more than snuggle in bed and kiss each other senseless, but that was perfectly fine with him. She loved him. He never thought he'd ever hear those three words from her lips, and even thinking about it made him feel warm and light all over the place. He waited until Abby was fast asleep before he carefully eased out of the bed and tiptoed down the stairs. It was well past midnight, and the moonlight shone through the windows to make silvery-white splotches on the smooth floor. He wasn't sure about this, but Danny had said it would be good of him to practice changing forms. Except…he wasn't quite sure _how_. He started with taking off his clothes. The last time he changed, he ended up totally naked, and he didn't want to risk ruining any more clothes. Setting all his clothes on the couch, he shivered a little at the chill of the air.

Hesitantly, he closed his eyes and reached for the animal presence in the back of his mind, the lingering consciousness of Akela that prowled in the recesses of his brain. The he-wolf's instincts surged forward at the first contact, making Connor shudder. He stepped forward into the silver haze of moonlight, and the change overtook him. It was an exquisite sense of _release,_ like having a tight bandage suddenly unbound, pressure let out through a valve, and for a brief heartbeat in time, he felt as if he had no form at all, just a flow of pure energy without shape. And then he was the wolf.

Connor had never realised it before, but he was a big wolf, larger than the average size for the grey wolf. He could feel the enormous strength in his shoulders and legs; he could probably run for miles and miles without tiring. And his jaws could probably snap a man's hand clean off. He looked down at himself, trying to remember how exactly to handle this whole 'get-around-on-all-fours' thing. How did Danny manage this, switching from two legs to four? Or did Danny become something else, like a bird? Come to think of it, the copper never did say what kind of animal he turned into.

He started simply, moving his legs, trying to remember how to get all his muscles working in proper order again. After a few wobbly, unsteady steps, though, the wolf's instincts began to melt into his own, making it far easier. Soon enough he could do laps around the whole flat without knocking into a single thing or tripping over his own paws. And holy super-senses, Batman! He could smell bloody _everything._ It was mind-blowing. He could smell the musk of Abby's reptiles, the food that was in the pantry, the woman herself upstairs in the loft, and the smell of himself. And it wasn't just his sense of smell; it was his sense of _everything._ Wolves did not see with only their eyes as humans did, like a fresco painted on a wall, but also with their ears and their noses and their tongues and their paws. For a thing to be real, it could not only have image, but smell, texture, taste, and sound.

Connor silently padded up the stairs to his loft, ears cocked forward. Abby was still asleep in bed, laid out on her stomach with the sheets down at her waist. He sat at the side of the bed, listening and watching her. Her breathing was steady and deep, and occasionally she'd murmur in her sleep. He stretched his muzzle forward until his nose touched her cheek; she mumbled and turned her head away from the cool touch. He licked her hand, then trotted back downstairs and changed back. This time the transformation came easier, without as much concentration needed to manage the change. He pulled his clothes back on and crept back up to the flat, crawling back up into the bed beside his woman, and he slid his arms around her, holding her close. She rolled towards him without waking, snuggling into his chest with a happy murmur. Connor smiled into her hair and closed his eyes to sleep.

* * *

Matt, Emily, Jess, Connor, and Jenny sat together in the kitchenette of the ARC the next day; there'd yet to be an anomaly alert, so they were free to sit down for a while. The young high priestess was busily looking through the grimoire in her lap, trying to find out if there was any connection between anomalies and magic; surely there had to be some reason why Christine wanted this place so badly. The other four were engrossed in conversation. Witch and familiar were giving Connor and Jenny a crash course on the Real World, telling them all about the supposedly-mythical creatures that populated the world in secret, explaining how things truly worked.

"So, do you guys have any kind of leaders?" Connor wondered. "I mean, is there like a witch cabinet, a werewolf Prime Minister, or is it every monster for itself?"

Emily couldn't help but smile at the young man's enthusiasm and curiosity. She had only known him a short time, but she rather liked Connor. "We have a Council," she replied.

"Okay. What's the Council?"

Matt rolled his eyes, sitting on the floor in front of the couch Emily sat on, leaning his shoulder against her legs. Did this kid _ever_ run out of questions? "The Council is the governing body of the Real World," he answered. "There's nine Elders and five Stepanii." He held up one hand before Connor could even ask; the boy closed his mouth. "The Stepanii each represent one of the smaller factions of creatures, like the fae and the sprites. The Elders, however, represent the largest factions—witches, nightkind, and skinchangers. There's three Elders per faction, whilst the Stepanii represent only one faction each. The witches have the Crone, the Mother, and the Maiden. They're the direct descendants of Hecate Witch-Queen, the very first witch. Jess is the Maiden, the youngest one. Her great-grandmother is the Crone, the oldest of Hecate's line, and her aunt represents the Mother."

Connor frowned slightly. "But…why wouldn't Jess's mum…?"

"She died when I was baby," said Jess without looking up from the grimoire. "She was the Mother of Witches, but when she died, Aunt Nina took her place on the Council."

The young man winced slightly. "Oh. Sorry."

"As I was saying," Matt continued, steering the conversation back on track. "There's three witch Elders, and three shifter Elders. See, there's more than just skinchangers. There's also were-animals and selkies and nagual. We all fall under the category of shifters."

Connor's interest once more flared to life. "What's the difference?"

Emily smiled as the Irishman groaned in exasperation. That was the problem with trying to explain the Real World to someone that hadn't been born into it—there were so many questions to be answered, so many explanations to be given. It was a lot like putting together one of the big, 2,000 piece puzzles. All the pieces had to be put together before the whole image became clear. Taking mercy on her familiar, she went ahead and explained. "You two, Matt, and Danny are skinchangers. You can transform whenever you want, day or night, any time during the lunar cycle, and it's completely voluntary. Were-animals are somewhat alike, but they can only partially shift into their animal shape, and they only fully transform day or night during the three days of the full moon. The extent of their partial transformations depends upon the lunar cycle. There are werewolves, yes, but there are also werecats and weredogs and wererats, all sorts. Skinchangers can be born or made through magic. Were-animals are either born or made through bites. With me so far?" she asked, and the young man nodded eagerly. He seemed to absorb information like a sponge. "Selkies are…well, they're essentially wereseals, but they can only be born, not made, and they can transform voluntarily as well. Naguals don't change shape voluntarily, and they can't be born, only made. Altogether, though, they're generally called 'shifters' because no matter what variation they may be, they can still shift from one form into another."

"And only skinchangers can be familiars," added Matt.

Emily lightly stroked his silky-soft hair. "Yes. Only skinchangers can be familiars," she agreed with a smile.

This time it was Jenny who spoke. "Familiars?" she queried.

"A familiar is a witch's closest ally," Emily explained, her hand still stroking Matt's hair as he leant against her, his forehead pressed to her knee. "They split their time between human and animal form, choosing which skin they exist in. Familiars act as…a sort of amplifier. They augment a witch's power and make her stronger, but it's more than just that. They're…companions. They become whatever their witch needs them to be—a protector, a healer, a confidant, a guide, a lover." Matt nudged her lightly when she said the word 'lover,' and she gently patted his hair. "A witch and her familiar share a mental link that isn't influenced by time or distance. We can share thoughts, emotions, even memories through the bond," she said, slipping into first-person without realising it.

Both Jenny and Connor were paying close attention now, intrigued by this new information. "You say bond," Jenny said at last. "Do you choose your familiars?"

This time Matt spoke. "No. It's….it's difficult to explain. The closest I can think of is love at first sight or the soulmate principle. When a skinchanger meets the witch they were meant to be with, they form the familiar's bond. Even if it's someone they hate, forming the link is involuntary. We have no choice in the matter. But it's permanent." He paused slightly, a frown of concentration appearing on his face as he tried to put his connection to Emily into words. "I think of it as a silver cord. It ties me to Emily and her to me, and it can't be severed."

There was a long moment of silence, but both Matt and Emily knew there'd invariably be more questions. They waited patiently for one of their 'students' to speak. Unsurprisingly, it was Connor. "So…what, does she…does she own you?" he asked Matt, a puzzled frown on his face.

"No!" Matt said even as Emily cried, "Goddess, no." The Irishman shook his head. "No, you don't _own_ familiars. It's a mutual bond; we're equals. Emily might say that I'm _her_ familiar, but I also say that she's _my_ witch."

They were quiet for a moment, but then Emily laughed softly. "I do believe we've gone quite a bit off-topic. We were discussing the Council," she said, and Connor nodded eagerly, ready to continue his lesson in the Real World's politics. "So, we've covered the witches and we've covered the shifters. I suppose that only leaves the nightkind. There's three nightkind Elders, usually the strongest or the wisest of their numbers. They're actually quite secretive about it all, so I'm afraid I don't have much to tell you."

"I've heard you say that before. What's a nightkind?" asked Jenny.

Jess lifted her gaze from the grimoire, interjecting into the lesson once more. "I do believe you call them vampires."

Connor's eyes lit up like a boy that'd just woken on Christmas morning. "Vampires? Oh, that is so cool! I'd like to meet one of them—"

A harsh voice cut him off. "Be grateful that you will never have to be brought before the nightkind Elders," said Danny, a strange tone to his words, a harsh, dark note that they'd never heard from him before. He'd appeared sometime during their conversation and stood listening the entire time. Now he had his arms folded tight across his chest, jaw clenched. "Those bloody leeches are far too keen on the old ways."

"Th-the old ways?" asked Sarah tentatively; she had been walking by and picked up on the conversation. Curiosity getting the better of her, she'd pulled up a chair to listen in some time ago, and nobody had said anything of it.

The copper only rumbled a low growl from deep in his chest and looked to the wall, glaring at it like it'd done him a personal insult, seemingly disinclined to answer her, so Jess spoke up for him, meeting Sarah's dark gaze with her dove-grey one. "The skinchangers and were-animals, they have been considered third-class citizens in the Real World for thousands of years. Used to be they didn't even have Elders on our Council, it was only witches and nightkind. Witches have usually been very civil with them, but nightkind…." She faltered a moment, biting her lip, and both Matt and Danny went very still, like a pair of man-sized statues. "An old…sport of the nightkind was to capture skinchangers and were-animals and then…force them to fight each other to the death. Like gladiators in the ring with tigers, except the tigers were other skinchangers. Those that refused to fight were tortured to death in the most horrible ways, and nightkind often captured the families of their prisoners to keep them from rebelling. The Council outlawed it hundreds of years ago, after the skinchangers and were-animals were given seats, but some still cling to old practices. Every now and then we'll find survivors that've been left out to die, and we do our best to help them recover and punish those responsible, but…it's a slow process."

She didn't say any more, but all that needed to be said was said. Jess didn't need to say that Danny and Matt had been two of those survivors, bleeding and battered, that she and Emily had been the witches to soothe their hurts and track down the nightkind responsible for their torture. Matt leant against Emily's side, instinctively seeking out her presence, and she ran one hand over his short-cropped hair. Danny's jaw was tight, teeth gritted. Tension hummed in his shoulders, and Sarah reached out to grasp his large hand in her own. He didn't shift or relax, but his fingers curled around hers.

"If we could appoint new nightkind Elders to the Council, things would change faster," said Emily, still stroking Matt's hair. "But they've held their positions for so long and grown so powerful…there's no way we could unseat them without setting off a war with the rest of the nightkind." She shook her head sadly.

They sat in silence for a long while after that, mulling over all the new information they'd learnt, trying to fit it all together in their heads. The sound of the ADD alarm cut into their thoughts. "Get back to you later," said Connor as he and Jenny leapt up, heading towards the main operations room. He ran forward and hastily silenced the alarm, though the red lights kept flashing.

"Where are we going?" asked Abby, hurrying over to stand beside Connor; one hand went out to rest on his shoulder. She wore one of his scarves as well as his fedora. Standing beside her, Stephen made a few mental notes to add into the betting pool on the two of them, especially when the younger man leant back into her touch.

"New Forest, looks like," he answered. "Well, it's good and cold outside, so maybe nothing will want to come through."

Cutter clapped him on the shoulder. "We can only hope. C'mon, let's go."

* * *

"Well, Connor? Where's the anomaly?" asked Becker irritably, scrubbing his hands together for warmth. He didn't wear gloves often because it made handling ammo and pulling the trigger difficult, but it was a hell of an inconvenience when it was below freezing outside with a fresh blanket of snow over the ground.

The young man stood in the middle of the clearing, staring at the handheld detector with a puzzled frown on his face. He didn't wear winter gear like the rest of them, in his black waistcoat and Black Sabbath t-shirt with no sweater or jacket. The cold didn't seem to bother him at all, and Abby was the one bundled up snug in his oversized duffle coat and scarf for warmth. "I-I dunno. The signal's coming from right here; it should be right in front of us," he said, gesturing, but there was nothing in front of him but empty air and snow-laden trees. "There _must've_ been an anomaly. The ADD picked up on it."

"Maybe it's faded," suggested Stephen, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth, a woolen cap pulled over his light brown hair. When the anomalies grew weak, they often faded out of view.

Connor shook his head emphatically. "No, the signal's coming in strong. It's not weakening."

Jenny stood beside Cutter, also dressed quite inappropriately for winter in her jeans and a sweater about as thick as a sheet of paper. Skinchangers had a much higher body temperature than humans, so it always felt like she was running a high fever, and she didn't feel the cold as strongly as the others. Of course, the professor didn't much mind, admiring her figure, unhidden by a winter coat, with a keen eye when he thought nobody else was looking. A small frown played at the corners of her mouth. "Something's not right," she said softly.

"What'd you mean?" Cutter wondered.

She shrugged. "I dunno. I just…_feel_ it," she answered. She couldn't explain it, but there was simply something off about the atmosphere. A sense of _danger_ kept tickling at her, prickles running down her backbone. In the back of her consciousness, Nitka the she-wolf was showing her teeth, hackles lifted.

A frosty wind eddied through the trees, moaning around the naked branches and making the snow-heavy branches creak and groan. And with the breeze came a thick, cloying scent, something different and just _wrong._ It was the scent of rot, deep earth, and death, mixed in with the sharp, burning odour of straight bleach. She gagged on it, and Connor visibly recoiled, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "What the hell is that?" he said.

The others looked around in confusion. "What's what?" asked Stephen.

"That _smell,"_ Jenny replied, covering her mouth and nose with one hand. The rest of the team looked at her in confusion. "You don't smell that?"

Suddenly Connor went rigid, and his lips drew back from his teeth; his canines had sharpened, giving him the slightest hint of fangs. His dark eyes shimmered gold as he scanned the trees around them. He'd smelt this scent before—it was the same terrible stink of the assassins in the ARC that'd tried to kill his Abby when he was still a wolf. It was the scent of vampires—of the nightkind. Without looking, he reached out with one hand and drew Abby close to his side, pushing her behind him protectively. "Connor?" she said in confusion and worry, realising that there was definitely something wrong.

Jenny grasped Cutter by the arm, drawing him closer to Connor and Abby, and with her other hand, she pulled Stephen along as well so they were grouped close together. Becker had his rifle up, looking for any sign of a threat. The two skinchangers had all their senses open, searching for any sign of the nightkind; the stench of them was so thick in the air it was almost gagging. Only the faintest whisper of boots upon snow signaled their approach, and both Connor and Jenny tensed, instinctively moving into a defencive crouch.

Like wraiths, the nightkind seemed to appear from the trees themselves, stark black against the pristine white snow and the pale grey trees. They were fully covered against the sunlight: gloves, caps, and thick protective jackets with hoods pulled over their heads, black scarves hiding the lower half of their faces, and sunglasses masking their eyes. Whilst nightkind didn't burst into flame in direct sunlight like they did in films, they did get a rather nasty sunburn very quickly if they didn't stay covered up, even in the weak winter sun. Becker swore softly—he seriously doubted that bullets would do anything against creatures of the night. Connor and Jenny growled softly, a low, rumbling sound emanating from the depths of their chests that sounded akin to sheets of metal grinding together. The nightkind didn't carry any weapons that could be seen, but it didn't matter. Their preternatural strength, speed, and agility provided them with all the weapons they needed. A dozen of them appeared, making a loose ring around the clearing and completely blocking the team in. An ambush. A trap.

A thirteenth shape emerged from the trees, but this one was different. It wasn't a man; it was a woman, sleek and sheathed in black like a femme fatale, also with a hood and sunglasses on. She stepped forward, boots leaving no mark in the snow, stopping just on the outside of the two skinchangers' safety zone. One gloved hand came up and pushed back the hood, revealing her short dark hair, and she took off her sunglasses to look directly at them. "Hello, Nick," said Helen Cutter with a smile playing at her lips. "Long time no see."


	9. A Treaty Offered

"What the hell do you want?" hissed Cutter, shifting forward slightly as if to approach her, but Jenny put out her arm to halt his progress.

Helen smiled, placing her sunglasses atop her head, hands on her hips. "I'm here with a business proposition, Nick," she answered. "That's why I invited you." She lifted one arm; clasped in her gloved hand was a small dark object that looked like a mobile; when she pressed a button on it, the handheld detector went silent, no longer picking up the false signal that the small device in her hand gave off. "Clever, isn't it? Took quite a bit of work to perfect this one," she said as she tucked it back in her pocket. Her gaze flicked to Becker. "You can drop the gun, Captain. It'll do you no good here."

Becker didn't so much as twitch, keeping his rifle raised, finger poised over the trigger.

"Soldiers," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Their muscles are big, but their brains certainly aren't."She shook her head, then looked back up at Cutter with seriousness in her expression. "Christine Johnson has an offer for you lot. If you sever ties with Parker and Quinn and give up the ARC…she'll let you live. It's that simple. She'll even let you keep your jobs if you really want them. Well, maybe not Lester, but…." Helen shrugged as if to say 'what can you do?'

Cutter stared hard at her, narrowing his gaze as he studied the woman that used to be his wife. There was something off about the situation, something just beyond his grasp. "Why?" he asked at last; she lifted her eyebrows in questioning. "Why do you and Christine Johnson want the ARC? What's in it for you?"

She gave him a soft, patronising look, shaking her head slowly. "Need-to-know, Nick. Need-to-know," was her soft reply.

"If I'm going to be giving up the only facility capable of handling anomalies, I think that I have the bloody right to know the reason why Johnson wants it so badly," he shot back, fists clenching at his sides in frustration; beside him, Connor and Jenny were looking increasingly unnerved, frowning as they sniffed at the air. "For God's sake, Helen, just give me a straight bloody answer for once. One time, answer me straight, that's all I'm asking of you. I'm a scientist, damn it, and I can't do the equation if you don't give me all the variables. _What do you want from the ARC?"_

Helen stared at Cutter with an expression of polite amusement, like she was watching a small child throw a tantrum and waiting for him to realise that nobody was paying attention to his histrionics. "I would tell you, Nick…if I thought that you'd understand," she said.

"Now what does _that_ mean?" he snapped angrily.

"It means that you're too narrow-minded and simple to grasp the concept of what we're doing," said Helen, her voice perfectly calm as opposed to his heated words, but there was something off about it. She was _too_ calm, eerily so. And she sounded perfectly confident in her own words, fully convinced that what she was saying was true. "I'm giving you a chance here, Nick. You won't get another like it. If you don't give yourselves up, cut ties with Parker, and let Christine Johnson have the ARC…you'll die. All of you will. You, your little sycophants—" She nodded towards Abby and Connor. "—Stephen, Lester, Soldier Boy, and your bitch lapdog," she added with a glance towards Jenny; a ferocious snarl tore out of the PR manager's chest. Helen didn't flinch, though, and gave a little hiss in response. "You've no idea what you're getting involved with. We're far more powerful than you could even imagine, and there are things on our side that would make a raptor flinch. If you stay on this course, you are going to be obliterated."

The professor could hardly believe his ears. "Are you saying that you intend to start a war with us?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, the term 'war' implies that both sides have an equal chance of winning. No, Nick, I'm talking more along the lines of…an extermination," Helen replied, a deadly note to her voice.

Connor jerked as if someone had just prodded him with a live wire. His face drained of colour, and his eyes widened, mouth falling open. "She's not human," he gasped out, and the entire team turned to stare at him. He'd finally pegged what was wrong with the situation that lay before him. He could only hear six heartbeats instead of seven. He couldn't trace Helen's human scent of volcanic soil, prehistoric flowers, and ancient air because she no longer had a human scent, replaced by the chemical-and-death stench of nightkind. "She's been turned into one of them," he said, and Jenny's eyes widened as she figured it out as well.

Cutter blanched, as did Stephen, and they both turned to look at her. "Helen?" asked the professor, his voice weak. He almost seemed to be pleading with her, wanting it not to be true. She couldn't have gone _that_ far, could she?

The woman chuckled softly, looking down at the ground for a moment. "Y'know, Connor, I've got to say…I'm rather impressed. I honestly didn't think you'd be the one to figure it out. But then again, you always were one of the brighter students Nick taught," she said, and as she spoke, they watched as her teeth changed. It wasn't like in the films with two elongated canines on top. It was an entire second set of teeth—long, slightly serrated, wicked sharp fangs—that extended over her human set. "I was a bit doubtful at first, but let me tell you something…I've really come to appreciate it," she said, her words clearly articulate even past the deadly fangs. "You wouldn't believe the _power_ I have now, the strength, but that's not even the half of it. I can think so clearly now. I thought that I'd been open-minded before, but now…" She gave a harsh, cold laugh, and it was a sound that sent chills up the team's collective backbone. Her gaze went back to Cutter, but now her eyes had changed. They were no longer the dark brown colour he remembered, but rather flat black, entirely opaque, like jet. They gave nothing away, only threw light back at whoever looked into them. They were the eyes of something dead, something predatory and deadly, and every muscle in his body went rigid in fear. "I could show you, if you'd like," she offered.

When he didn't move—Cutter wasn't even sure that he _could_ move—Helen let out a low hiss of irritation. "Very well, then. You don't have to decide now. I'll give you a day to think it over, choose whether or not you want to survive to see next spring. Oh, and Nick? Leave Parker and the rest of those Daybreak brats out of this. The offer is for you lot only. See you tomorrow." She put her sunglasses back on, drew her hood up, and vanished into the trees. The rest of the nightkind followed her, moving so fast that they blurred, disappearing in the snow-blanketed forest.

* * *

Christine looked up from her notes as the door to her office opened and Helen Cutter walked in. "Ah, Ms. Ambrose. Good to see you again. So…how did your little tête-a-tête with the ARC go? Did the false signal work like it should?" she asked.

The nightkind woman took off her hood and glasses, pushing one hand back through her hair. Once Helen had learnt all about the Real World, she'd been fully willing to give up humanity and sunlight in exchange for the strength, speed, and near-immortal benefits of being nightkind. She had become Christine's second commander, leading her nightkind forces whilst Wilder led the shifters. "It worked wonders," replied Helen, taking out the small device and lightly tossing it from hand to hand. "As for the treaty…hm. I doubt Nick will agree; he's too Lilliputian in thinking. And wherever Nick goes, his little sycophants and the bitch, Lewis, are going to follow him. But Stephen…" She lightly tapped one fingernail to her teeth, contemplating. "We may have a chance in persuading Stephen. And Captain Becker…well, he's a soldier. He'll do as his told, come down to it," she said with a deadly, predatory smile. The life of a nightkind seemed to fit Helen perfectly; it was almost as if she'd been born to become one.

Christine nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Dissent amongst the ranks. You'll meet with them tomorrow?" she asked, glancing up at the dark-haired woman.

"Of course." Helen leant back in her chair, stretching out like a content cat. "How could I ever pass up a chance like this?"

* * *

"She did _what?"_ yelped Jess, leaping to her feet in anger.

"She offered us a free pass into Christine Johnson's army," repeated Cutter. They'd regaled the Jess, Danny, Emily, and Matt on the events of the false alarm, how Helen had appeared with her team of nightkind, warned them of their impending 'extermination', and offered them amnesty if they would cross over to the other side.

The young woman was furious, steam practically coming out of her ears, and they watched as bright sparks darted off her fingertips, hair bristling with static electricity."That…that _bitch!"_ Jess hissed as she paced back and forth in the central hub.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Cutter couldn't help but smile. "That's Helen for you."

Emily shook her head in disbelief as Matt rumbled in displeasure beside her. He'd shifted into his wolfhound form, sitting on his haunches beside her chair with his muzzle on her thigh. She reached down and scratched behind his ears to soothe him. "Christine Johnson…Goddess help us, is there anything she won't do?" she muttered quietly.

Danny shook his head in distaste as well, scowling. He was really starting to get tired of this mess with Christine Johnson. He loved witches to death, but he was quite sick of her lot. First witches and skinchangers, now she was using bloody _nightkind_ against them. He wondered how she'd managed to pull that one off. Nightkind didn't get on with skinchangers. They got on like bloody cats and dogs. Well, actually, a better description would be getting on like vampires and werewolves.

A light touch on his shoulder made him look up in surprise. It wasn't often that anybody managed to sneak up on him; he must've been deeper in thought than he realised. Sarah looked down at him with soft, dark eyes. "What's going to happen now?" she asked quietly. "Danny, I'm not a soldier, I'm a scientist. I'm not made for _war—"_

He reached up and grasped her hand, noticing how small and delicate it felt, tucked into his own. "Hey, now, none of that. Everything will be fine," he said gently. "Besides, you don't gotta worry 'bout anything. You've got me to protect you." He grinned.

Sarah lifted one eyebrow. "Yeah, that's why I'm worried."

He put on a mock-insulted face, twisting around to look at her. "Oi, now, that hurts, Dr. Page." He mimed driving a knife into his chest, speaking in a false tearful voice. "That really hurts."

She smiled back, her teeth pearly white against the olive tone of her skin, and she tucked a stray piece of glossy dark hair behind her ears. Danny shifted around in his seat to better look at her. "Sarah. D'you think you'd…maybe like to go for coffee later?" he asked.

Sarah tilted her head to eye him closer. "We just found out that Christine Johnson is practically declaring war on the ARC…and you want to go for coffee?" she asked in disbelief.

"Well, not right _now,"_ he said. "I mean later. When there's no dinosaurs or nightkind or evil witches we have to worry about."

The Egyptologist sighed and shook her head, though a smile still played around the corners of her lips. "Yeah. Coffee sounds good."

Danny grinned. "Right, it's a date then," he said brightly, and her eyebrows shot up questioningly. Hastily, he backtracked, stumbling over his words in his haste. "I-I don't mean a _date_-date, I just meant that—y'know, that it's a deal or it's—" When did he start sounding like Connor?

"I know what you meant, Danny," Sarah replied, touching his shoulder. "It's a date. Or a deal. Or whatever else you were going to say." She winked and walked away, tossing her dark hair back over one shoulder, and he couldn't help but stare after her, admiring the figure she cut. _Damn, what a woman._

* * *

_Madness,_ thought Becker. _This whole bloody job is pure madness. First dinosaurs, now witches. God, what's next? Dragons and unicorns?_ Hell, for all he knew, there could be such a thing as dragons and unicorns, seeing how there was such a thing as vampires. And werewolves. Or shapeshifters. Whatever the hell it was. The captain rubbed at his temples, eyes closed as he tried to alleviate the rapidly-forming headache behind his eyes. _Madness. Total. Bloody. Madness._ He still couldn't get the image of the ambush in the forest out of his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw behind his closed lashes were images of Helen's dead predator eyes and sharp fangs sliding over her teeth.

A light touch on the back of his neck almost startled Becker right out of his skin. Twisting around, he saw a young woman standing just behind him. _Jess._ Her name was Jess. Becker forced himself to swallow; she was beautiful. Soft brown hair in slight curls, grey-blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled, flawless skin…God, who the hell ever said that witches were ugly? _Stop it,_ he scolded himself mentally. _She's a civilian and probably half your age. Get a grip._ "What are you doing?" he asked, reaching up to brush his fingers across the back of his neck where she'd touched him; there was something damp on his skin. "What is that?" It smelled almost flowery, and God help him if he ended up smelling like a girl because of her.

"Essence of lavender and jojoba oil," she replied. "It'll help with your headache, Captain Becker."

He didn't ask how she could've known he had a headache. Jess daubed her fingers in the fragrant mix, then lightly touched those fingertips to his temples and the back of his neck. Almost instantly, the tension melted out of his neck, and the developing ache behind his eyes lessened. Blinking in surprise, he looked up at her young face. "Thank you."

She smiled. "You're welcome. May I?" she asked, indicating to the empty chair beside him.

"Yeah, of course." Becker hastily jumped up and pulled the chair out for her, his deeply-ingrained manners scolding him for not offering her a seat in the first place. Jess sat down neatly, smoothing out her skirt. She didn't look like a witch at all, dressed up so neat and preppy and colourful, in a pink blouse with a pale orange jacket and navy grey skirt. Her hair was pinned up elegantly in a cluster of shiny curls, a bright blue flower pin holding them in place. "So, Ms. Parker—"

"Oh, Captain, please, I'm just Jess," she insisted, waving one delicate hand to brush off his words.

He didn't allow himself to smile—_she's a civilian, keep it professional_—but he nodded. "Right, then. Jess. You are the leader of these witches?" he asked.

"I am the High Priestess of Circle Daybreak, yes," she replied.

"Well, as the head of security here at the ARC, I am going to have to ask if there's any way to keep my men safe if Christine Johnson really is planning to launch some kind of strike against us."

Jess was quiet for a moment, lacing her fingers together in her lap, chewing her lower lip as she thought. "Captain, it is possible that Emily and I could put some wards in place—" she began.

"Wards?" he repeated.

"Magical barriers," she explained. "Usually wards are used to mask someone's presence or make safe an individual, but there are some used to protect entire buildings. They prevent anyone with intent to harm from entering. For example, if a soldier under your command walks in the front gate, he'll be able to cross the wards, but if one of Christine Johnson's soldiers tries to sneak in, he would be immobilised and held captive in the wards. It's not painful at all. It merely causes a kind of magical paralysis, preventing them from escaping."

Becker's eyebrows shot up. If he could figure out how to make _those,_ he might never have to work again. That was every head of security's dream, having a security system that captured any intruders for him. "That sounds quite impressive," he said at last. "And you and Miss Merchant could form these…wards?"

Jess nodded. "Yes. We might need help from other witches in my circle, but it can be done."

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Danny has connections in the skinchanger community, as does Matt. I, erm, I have every confidence that your soldiers are very well trained, Captain Becker, but the fact remains that they are still human and going up against very powerful supernatural beings," she said carefully, clearly trying to find a way to avoid insulting or angering him with her words. "It would probably be wisest to have some extra security around here."

"Of the inhuman sort?" he asked, maybe a little too sharply, and he couldn't help but notice her tiny wince at the word _'inhuman.'_

Jess nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

Becker wanted to apologise—what for, he didn't quite know, but just to make her more comfortable around him. But he held his tongue. There couldn't be any kind of…fraternising now, not with everything that was happening. There were far more important things to worry about now, like keeping the ARC safe. "So about these wards…"

* * *

Cutter sat in his office, forehead resting against his palm, elbow on the desk. He stared at the time map without really seeing it, his mind racing a thousand miles an hour. _How did we get to this point?_ Before Jenny and Connor went missing, he and all the rest of the team had been blissfully ignorant of the Real World, not knowing the least thing about skinchangers and witches and nightkind, not knowing about magic and hexes and spells. Before his friends were taken, they'd only wrangled with dinosaurs and time travel. Whilst that wasn't, per say, _normal,_ it'd become a part of their lives, something that was believable and accepted. But this? This was something else.

He kept seeing Helen changing right in front of him, changing from the woman he thought he knew and once loved into that cold, deadly, predatory nightkind with eyes made out of jet and fangs that looked like they belonged to a raptor. He felt sick to his stomach, knowing that she'd willingly become something like that. Closing his eyes, he shoved one hand back through his hair, pushing it back out of his face.

A light touch on his shoulder nearly made him leap out of the chair, whirling around, almost off-balancing himself and half-falling out of the chair. "Jesus Christ," he gasped. "Don't _do_ that!"

Jenny held up both hands to show she was unarmed. "I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry. I didn't meant to frighten you," she apologised hastily. "I was just going to say that you shouldn't think so hard. I could almost smell your hair burning," she remarked, a smile on her lips, but it soon faded as she leant against the edge of the desk, arms folded across her stomach. "What do you think is going to happen to us now, Nick? After everything that's happened today? I mean…."

He reached out and grasped her hand in his own, pulling her closer to his chair. "We're going to be okay," he said softly. She didn't look at all convinced, and he squeezed her fingers gently, lifting his hand to her lips to lightly kiss her knuckles. "We will. I promise. We've handled plenty before this."

"Dinosaurs, Nick. Dinosaurs, not witches and nightkind and the monsters from the closet," she replied.

Cutter lifted one eyebrow, a weak smile pulling at his mouth. "Need I say that you are one of those 'monsters' from the closet?" he asked, but then lifted a hand to brush a stray curl of hair back from her cheek. "Though I must admit, you give werewolves a good name."

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, allowing him to lightly stroke a hand over the smooth curve of her throat. They hadn't done anything really, other than the close snuggling they'd done in Jess's house—they hadn't even kissed. But she didn't seem to have a problem with him touching her, though. He lightly drew a fingertip down the curve of her shoulder, tracing the ridge of her collarbone. "Mm, your hands are cold."

"Not really. You're hot," he said. Abby had been first to notice that Connor always felt feverish, and she'd fretted over it until Danny explained that skinchangers had higher body temperatures. So Jenny's average temperature hovered at an even 42°C _(107.6°F)_.

She smiled. "Why thank you, so are you."

"No, I meant—" He paused slightly, narrowing his gaze at her, even as a mischievous gleam shone in her eyes. He couldn't help but smile back at her facetiousness. _Cheeky little punk,_ he thought.

Jenny looked back down at him, then stepped forward, took his shoulders, and drew him forward in the chair so she could get her arms fully around him. Cutter hadn't quite expected this—she had become much more affectionate lately—and after a second of hesitation, he leant into her arms, putting his arms around her waist, burying his head against her. She was so soft and warm, and she smelt so good…. He wasn't sure he'd ever manage to let go again. "Nick," she murmured, her breath stirring the top of his hair.

"Mm?"

"Will you come home with me tonight?" she asked softly. Unsure if he'd heard her correctly, he leant back and tilted his chin up to look at her. She had a soft, vulnerable look in her eyes, biting her lower lip. "I-I mean, we don't have to…_do_ anything, I just don't want to be alone tonight. Please?" she asked softly, a slight tremor coming to her words, her fingers stroking the back of his hair.

Cutter felt a smile pull at his lips. "Of course I will," he said.

* * *

Abby ran a hand over Connor's mess of thick black hair, though she had essentially given up on trying to tame it. His hair was insanity, like he'd stuck his finger into a light socket, but it didn't tangle. That was the amazing thing. She'd seen it herself; when the wind blew it too far out of place, it just settled back into place like it'd never moved. "What are we gonna do?" she murmured softly, leaning against his back. He was typing at the ADD, but she could tell that his heart wasn't in it; he was still thinking about Helen and her sepulchral warning. Abby stood behind his chair, arms draped around his neck, her chest pressing against the back of his shoulders. She rested her chin atop his head.

He stopped typing, sighed softly, and lifted his arms to grasp her delicate wrists in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across the tender skin of her inner wrist. She could feel the heat of his skin even through his gloves, like he was running a high fever. "I dunno, Abby. I dunno what's going to happen. I dunno what Christine Johnson is going to do. I dunno what Helen will do. I dunno," he replied quietly, but then he turned around to face her. It seemed as if he had aged in these past several months, becoming something lean and handsome and _hers._ Abby felt warm down to her toes, knowing that she had him all to herself. He placed his hands on her waist, drawing her closer to the chair so that she stood between his knees. "But I'll tell you what I do know. I know that we are the greatest dinosaur-fighting team in the world," he said with his crooked, half-dimpled grin, and she sniggered. "I know that Cutter is the most stubborn man in the world. I know that he'll turn down Helen. I know we're going to fight her and Christine Johnson, no matter what they do. And I know that I love you."

Abby smiled, draping her arms around his neck. "I love you, too."

Connor nodded, gently squeezing her waist; she was so tiny that he could nearly fit his hands almost entirely around her petite form. "Then we're going to be alright," he said. "We will be alright, just so long as we hold onto those things, if we keep hold of what we know instead of fretting about what we don't."

She shook her head, running her hand over his hair, smoothing both hands over his shoulders. Beneath the layers, she could feel the hard, wiry muscles of his body. He wasn't a built guy, not like Becker or Stephen, but he had that lean whipcord tension that was better suited to slender anyways. "When did you get so smart?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged lightly. "Mum used to tell me that when I was a kid," he answered. "After my dad died, we were in a rough place for a while, but she'd always tell me, 'Connor, it does no good to think about what we don't know. Keep hold of what you know. Hold onto what makes you feel, and don't let go of it, 'cause that's what makes you real.' So that's what I do. Hold onto what I know and what I feel."

Smiling, Abby kissed his warm-almost-hot forehead. "Let's go home," she murmured.

* * *

**A/N: love to aunteeneenah, thou art my most faithful reviewer. I would like to see reviews from other readers, though. Please? Pretty please?**


	10. A Traitor Revealed

Cutter grasped one of Jenny's hands in his own as they stood in the same clearing they had yesterday, waiting for the arrival of Helen and her undead cronies. He didn't even have to wear gloves with her hands. He felt…steady. That was the best way to describe it. For the first time in months, he felt like he had his feet on solid ground. Last night, he and Jenny had done nothing more than lay in bed beside each other, but that was somehow much more intimate than anything else they could've done. "Ready for this?" he asked quietly. Nobody knew what would happen when they turned down Helen. He remembered telling Stephen once, what felt like an eon ago in the shopping centre—_Helen has never handled rejection particularly well._ He could feel the dagger that Matt had given him pressed against his forearm, safely tucked in his sleeve. It wasn't made of metal, but rather of snakewood. According to the Irishman, it was the hardest wood in the world and the best weapon against nightkind. Apparently the old stake-through-the-heart trick really did work. He, Stephen, Abby, and Becker all had one. Jenny and Connor didn't, but only because they had their own defences.

"Been ready," Jenny replied in just as soft a voice, squeezing his hand.

Connor stood beside Abby, practically humming with tension; she had one hand fisted on the back of his waistcoat as if to physically restrain him. Becker was scanning the trees warily, holding his rifle tightly. Stephen was just as on edge, standing at the ready, tensed for action. Danny, Sarah, Matt, Emily, and Jess had stayed at the ARC for two reasons. After signing the Official Secrets Act, they had become a kind of second response team to help with handling the anomaly alerts, considering how they now had a two-front battle going with anomalies on one side and Christine Johnson and her magic army on the other side. Also, Helen had warned them not to bring any of the witches.

Jenny took a deep breath and took a moment to really expand her senses. Matt had taught her how to do this, how to access her wolf's powers without being in the wolf's skin. It was like stepping into a whole other world. The she-wolf—she always saw her alter ego as Nitka now—had an incredible sensory range that made humans seem deaf and blind in comparison. All five of her senses were hypersensitive as a wolf. Vision—she could see in the dark as well as daylight. She saw infrared, body heat. Hearing—her ears could detect the heartbeats of the people around her, hear pitches higher and lower than the human auditory range, and she could pinpoint an individual sneeze in a crowd. Smell—she could smell what a person had for breakfast the day before, could distinguish Coke from Pepsi from twenty paces, and could track scents for kilometres without losing the trail. Taste—her body now defied poison. Anything that disturbed the wolf, she would instantly bring it back up. Touch—even as a wolf, she had highly sensitive hairs all over her body. She could feel her way in total darkness by detecting changes in air pressure on her skin. Even in human form, she felt things with almost ten times the intensity of a normal person. And she had five hundred muscles that she could control voluntarily.

She had to squeeze Cutter's hand just to keep herself grounded at the abrupt sensory onslaught. The smell of fresh snow was first and foremost, a cold, crisp smell that reminded Nitka of hunting across the Arctic tundra. Freshly broken twigs added a sharp, sweet odour. She could hear the faint twittering and fluttering of birds amongst the bare, leafless branches; somewhere in the distance a stag was peeling bark off a tree to eat. Nearby, a rabbit snuffled about in the undergrowth. She could smell her friends all around her, a collection of odours that she knew by heart and could recognise from anywhere. Cutter—rich and spicy-sweet, old paper and spices; Abby—reptile, flowers, and natural musk. Stephen—pine needles, resin, leather, and deep earth. Becker—gun oil, metal, and gunpowder. Connor—new leaves, fresh-cut hay, and damp soil.

She pushed all of it aside, attuning all her senses into finding the burning, terrible reek of nightkind—of Helen and her lot. The muscles of her temples twitched as Nitka tried to move her ears. She'd heard it, the faintest whisper of boots against snowy earth, far too quiet for any human to detect, and as she inhaled through her nose, the harsh, searing chemical odour of nightkind practically burned her. Beside her, Connor went tense, so she knew he'd smelt it too. "They're coming," she murmured under her breath.

The others shifted around her, and she heard the faint increase in their heart rates. Within her, Nitka prowled restlessly, hackles lifting, red tongue curling between bared fangs in murderous anticipation.

Just as they had yesterday, the nightkind appeared like black-clad wraiths, wrathful spirits sent from the land of the dead to take vengeance upon the living. There were fewer of them today—only four of them instead of a dozen. Five, counting Helen. They were still decked out in protective layers: hoods, scarves, and sunglasses.

Helen stepped forward, taking off her shades and pulling down the scarf. "Well, well, well. You're all here. Good. I actually thought I'd have to hunt you lot down," she said, hands on her hips. "So, Nick…what do you say? Have you thought over our rather generous offer?"

Cutter nodded, facing her without flinching. He noticed how her eyes flicked to his hand, still entwined with Jenny's, and he saw the brief flash of emotion that crossed her gaze before a mask fell over her face. The fact that she was bothered only made him feel better. "I have. You can go to hell," he answered.

The mask didn't slip, but he saw her fingers twitch slightly. "And I suppose the same goes for the rest of you?" she asked icily, shifting her gaze to the others.

"Piss off, leech," Connor growled, his voice dipping into deep, snarling tones that rang with Akela's fury.

A low hiss slipped out from between Helen's teeth, and the student replied with a deep, ripping snarl that Jenny echoed. Her dark gaze went to Becker. "Captain?" The soft _click_ of the rifle cocking was the only answer she received. Finally, she looked over at Stephen. _"E tu,_ Stephen?" she asked, her voice taking on a decidedly sultry tone, a small grin playing at her lips.

There was a heartbeat of silence as nightkind and human stared at each other, faces unreadable, but then…Stephen stepped towards her, crossing the no-man's land between the two groups. Helen's smile grew into a full-blow smirk of pure victory.

"Stephen?" Cutter's voice came out weak, stunned and disbelieving. "No…no, you—you can't…."

The tracker came over to stand beside Helen, turning back to look at the professor and the rest of the team. Their faces were all similar masks of horror and disbelief. "I'm sorry, Nick," he said. "I know you think that you can survive this, but it's time to be realistic. I don't want to die, and if I have to do this to live, I will."

"You son of a bitch!" Abby shrieked, her voice shattering the silence that rang after his words. She lunged towards him with fists clenched, eyes blazing fury, but Connor hastily looped an arm around her waist, keeping her from attacking the tracker. She kicked and writhed, trying to break free, but he was far stronger than her, holding her fast. "We trusted you, you bastard! We thought you were our _friend!"_ She shouted a few more obscenities at him, then buried her face into Connor's chest, shuddering with repressed sobs. The young man looked dazed, disbelieving, wounded…and entirely betrayed. He looked at Stephen with hurt in his dark eyes, then buried his nose in Abby's hair, eyes closed; his lashes were suspiciously damp.

Cutter's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone bone-white, and he began striding towards his former friend, not even caring about the nightkind that hissed in warning. Jenny hastily threw her arms around his chest, digging her heels into the snowy earth to restrain him. "Stop. Nick, stop! It's not worth it, they'll kill you," she muttered in a low voice, visibly straining to keep him still even as he tried to prise her arms off him.

He didn't seem to hear her, half-mad with rage. "You—you—" he sputtered furiously, then lapsed into a stream of fluent Gaelic, the old language rolling off his tongue in an enraged river. Nobody in the clearing needed to understand the foreign words to imagine some of the names that he was calling Stephen.

Helen grinned victoriously, reaching up to touch the lab technician's arm in a gentle, seductive caress. "You made the right choice, Stephen," she practically purred. "Let's go. Christine will love to meet you."

As they turned to leave, Stephen paused slightly, then reached up his sleeve and pulled out the snakewood dagger that'd been leant to him. "Give that back to Quinn, would you?" he asked, then threw it; the blade buried itself in the earth near Becker's feet, hilt quivering. Without another word, he turned his back to the team and disappeared into the forest with Helen and the other nightkind.

* * *

Stephen felt uncharacteristically afraid as he walked into the tall, imposing building that seemed to be made entirely out of windows. He didn't often feel scared, but right now, he felt bloody terrified. Because he was surrounded by predators. The primordial parts of his brain knew that he was surrounded on all sides by creatures that could take him apart like a tinker toy. He once told Helen that all humans had to fear was each other, but he was so terribly wrong—they had _this_ to fear, this unknown, unacknowledged world that lingered just below the surface of everyday life.

They were met inside the door by a man in a military uniform, his slightly-greying hair neatly combed. The patch on his chest said _'Wilder.'_ He didn't have the same cold look that the rest of the nightkind did, but he did have that dangerous, prowling grace that Matt and Danny had. _So…a skinchanger, probably. Or one of those other shifters,_ he thought.

"Captain Wilder, I'd like you to meet Stephen Hart. Stephen, this is Captain Wilder. He's Christine's head of security here," said Helen. "I imagine you'll be working very closely together."

Stephen held out one hand, but the military man ignored it. "High Priestess is waiting," he said brusquely, then turned and walked towards the stairs. Stephen followed after him, anxiously aware of Helen at his back. Only through sheer force of will did he keep from glancing back at her out of nervousness. They walked down a corridor to a large office. Wilder stopped outside the door, gesturing for them to go inside.

Feeling like he was walking into a pit of serpents, he walked into the office. It was very modern and professional, all neat lines and perfect styling. Sitting behind a large desk was the woman that'd become number one on the ARC's most wanted list: Christine Johnson. The first thing he noticed was that she was incredibly beautiful. He never understood why stories always said that witches were ugly; every one he'd met so far was wonderfully attractive. Christine had shiny black hair pinned up in a perfect French knot, flawless pale skin, full lips the red of a Christmas ribbon, and clear blue eyes framed in thick black lashes. She was dressed like a professional in an elegant pantsuit and black heels. But then he felt the invisible aura of _danger_ that flowed off her like cold air rolling out of a freezer. Oh yes, this woman was not one to be provoked. When she looked up and saw them, a smile graced her ribbon-red lips, revealing even, pearly white teeth. "Ah, Mr. Hart. Wonderful to meet you at last." She stood up and walked around the desk, holding out one hand to him. He shook her hand automatically and barely managed to keep from shivering at the touch of her skin, an icy chill of power running down his backbone. "You've chosen your fate wisely."

"I know," he replied.

"You are also…human," she noted, eyeing him up like he was a prized animal at an auction. "That will have to change. Humans have no place in the Real World, and they break far too easily."

Stephen's eyebrows shot up as he lowered his hand back to his side. "You'll…make me into one of them?" he asked, glancing towards the nightkind out the windows of her office.

"If you wish. Or perhaps you would rather be a skinchanger," said Christine Johnson, clasping her hands together in front of her. "I'll let you decide, but remaining human is entirely out of the question. Do you understand?"

He felt a knot settle in his gut at those words, an unexpected sense of outright terror that he barely managed to wrestle down. It was a relief to know that he wouldn't be forced to become a nightkind, be made into a cold, dead creature with retractable raptor teeth and eyes made of jet. He would be a skinchanger, like Jenny and Connor, even though they would never forgive him for this. Hell, if he ever saw them again, he would have to be a skinchanger just to keep them from killing him…and to protect himself from Cutter's wrath. Still, a part of him was terrified that he would end up like his former teammates had, trapped inside an animal's form without human thought. Shoving thoughts like that aside, he replied, "Thank you, Miss Johnson."

Her eyes hardened, a predatory glitter in her blue gaze. "High Priestess," she corrected, words dripping icicles.

Stephen nodded. "Of course. Apologies. Thank you, High Priestess."

Just like that, she was smiling again. "I think that we are going to get along splendidly, Mr. Hart, just splendidly. I'll have Captain Wilder show you around."

He nodded again. "Yes, High Priestess."

* * *

They reentered the ARC in a state of near-shock, pale-faced and shaky. Cutter hadn't spoken a word since they left New Forest; none of them had, really. Abby clutched Connor's arm like he was the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth. Jenny had a hand resting on Cutter's back. Even the ever-stoic Becker was stunned. They hadn't been working together as long as the rest of the team, but the two men had become almost brothers-in-arms. "I'll—I'll go report to Lester," said the captain in a quiet voice. The others didn't respond, just shuffled off to their separate offices.

Once they were inside the office, Jenny closed the door and latched it, then turned and braced her back against the cool metal, trying to keep her breathing steady. The professor shuffled over and sat down at his desk, wearing a stunned expression. But then he seemed to crumble, shoulders slumping, and he appeared to cave in on himself, growing smaller right before her eyes. He placed elbows on his knees and buried his face in both hands; his breathing came in harsh, ragged gasps. "I-I thought he was my friend," he rasped out, voice raw. A shudder tore through his body like a flick through a rope. "I…_trusted_ him."

"Oh, baby…." Jenny pushed off from the wall, crossed the office, and wrapped both arms around him; he halfway collapsed into her, head buried against her stomach, arms locked tightly around her waist. A soft sob hitched in his throat, shoulders trembling as he let out a whimper. She stroked his hair and back, murmuring gentle, soothing words in his ear, sweet nothings to try and soothe his pain. "I'm here, Nick. I'm here. I won't leave you. Shh, baby, shh…." She placed a hand under his chin, tilting his head up, and she kissed his face, tasting the salty wetness of tears on his skin.

The rest of the team thought that Cutter no longer considered Stephen Hart to be his friend, that the relationship between them was strained and cold, but Jenny knew better than that. Cutter wasn't an emotional person—he didn't do well in expressing how he felt to others. The professor loved Stephen like a brother, maybe the closest friend that he'd ever had. Finding out about the tracker's affair with Helen had hurt him bad, but this betrayal cut him deeper, hurt more.

"Jenny," he moaned weakly, "what will we do?"

She took his face between both hands, using her thumbs to swipe the tears off his cheeks, and bent at the waist so her forehead touched his. "We are going to do what we've always done," she replied, feeling his warm, trembling breaths tickle her skin. "We are going to handle the anomalies and whatever creatures that come our way. That's what we're going to do. Stephen has picked his lot, and I know it hurts, but we have to carry on, just like we did before." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Okay?"

Cutter closed his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth as he tried to swallow past the lump of cotton wedged in his throat. "Okay," he croaked at last, voice cracking slightly.

"Good man. C'mere." She pulled him over to the couch in his office, sat down, and drew him down next to her. The professor laid down without hesitation and placed his head in her lap, eyes closed; Jenny stroked his hair, feeling him tremble slightly under her hands. "Everything will turn out okay, Nick. I promise," she said, echoing his words from earlier that day. It felt as though the entire world had shifted on its axis in the past few hours. She put her head back against the couch, feeling tears of her own prickle at her eyes. _Stephen Hart, if I ever see you again, I will make you bleed for what you've done to him,_ she vowed silently.

* * *

"How could he do this to us?" Abby's voice was muffled by the folds of Connor's scarf, which she had her face pressed into, head buried in the crook of his shoulder. "I thought he was our friend."

"He was," Connor replied quietly, arms wound tight around her, feeling her quiver and shake. They sat in his office, huddled together closely on the couch. His chest ached something fierce, a knot settled just below his sternum, like a raw wound had been torn open in him. He honestly thought that Stephen would have learnt his lesson and would never trust Helen over the team again, but apparently he'd been wrong. It hurt more than he would've thought because Stephen wasn't just his teammate. He was like the big brother Connor never had, and his betrayal hurt as much as it would if they were siblings. In the dark recesses of his brain, Akela whimpered and whined, mourning the loss of a packmate.

Abby held tight to him, her tears leaving wet marks on his scarf, and he felt a fierce protective anger surge up in him, battling with his hurt. He could probably forgive Stephen hurting _him,_ but he couldn't forgive the tracker hurting Abby, not his Abby. He stroked her hair and rubbed circles on her back. "It'll be okay, love," he mumbled thickly. "We'll…we'll all be okay."

* * *

"Stephen's gone to Christine Johnson?" repeated Sarah in a dazed voice. The rest of the secondary team looked just as shocked as she sounded, sitting in the otherwise empty kitchenette; Becker had just relayed to them the events of the rendezvous with Helen Cutter in New Forest.

Captain Becker reached in his pocket and pulled out the snakewood dagger that Stephen had tossed on the ground, a symbol of his leaving the team. "He asked that I give this back to you," he said, holding the dagger towards Danny by the blade.

The copper sat forward and took the wooden knife back, a disbelieving expression on his face. Sarah dropped down to sit beside him, and Danny reached out to wrap his large hand around her smaller one."I don't bloody believe it," he said in a soft, awed tone. Like Becker, Danny hadn't known Stephen for too long, but they were good mates. He stared down at the dagger, the hard snakewood gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. Emily closed her eyes and pressed her head against Matt's chest; the Irishman wrapped both arms around her, resting his chin atop her hair in silent comfort. Jess whispered a blessing under her breath, grasping her charm necklace tightly.

After several minutes of silence in which they all sat mulling over their own thoughts and sorrows, Becker stood up, once more the cool, unshakeable captain and head of security. "Quinn, Anderson," he said brusquely, and both men looked up at him. "Let's get down to the gym. Show us how the hell to fight those things. Miss Parker, Miss Merchant, you said that you could put up wards around the ARC. I think it'd be a good idea to have that done sooner rather than later," he instructed. He knew he probably sounded like one cold bastard, but he had lost men before. He knew that they couldn't just sit there and mope about, as tempting as it was. They had to get up, get moving, start preparing themselves for whatever hell was coming their way.

They stared at him for a moment, but then Danny nodded and got to his feet. "First things first. Guns won't do much against nightkind. You lot are gonna need crossbows and snakewood bolts. I know a bloke that can help," he said; Matt nodded agreement, rising to his feet as well. The copper glanced down at Sarah. "And I can show you how to handle this, keep yourself safe," he added, placing his snakewood dagger back in her hands, and she nodded slowly, gripping the hilt tightly.

Jess and Emily stood as well. "We'll get others from Daybreak here to help assemble the wards," said Jess.

Becker gave a short nod. "Good. Let's get to work, then."

* * *

There was a space between sleep and dreaming where little things—not quite dreams, not quite precognition, but a strange blending of the two—could slip into the mind. Stephen's eyes opened slowly, drowsily, the tingling sense of being watched sinking into his mind through the woolly cotton feeling of being warm and sleepy. He wasn't in his flat—Helen didn't think it'd be safe for him to go home, so he hadn't. He was in one of the bunks at Christine Johnson's building, in the narrow cot underneath a window, and as he opened his eyes, he saw it.

An owl perched on the tree branches outside his window, drenched in the silvery light of the moon's glow, each pallid feather clear and sharp under the icy cold illumination. It was ghostly white with ink-black lines barring its breast, legs, back, and wings, perfectly spaced and even. Its face and throat was purest white except for the curved black beak and the black-rimmed, luminous yellow eyes that stared, unblinking, into his own. He stared at it, trying to make his mind work properly. The owl ruffled itself slightly, then its wings spread wide—perfectly round black spots dotted its primary feathers in even rows—and took off, flying away into the darkness.

Tomorrow he began his training. He had to learn how to kill skinchangers—Danny, Matt, Jenny, and Connor would be the biggest threats, so they would be the first to die. Stephen let his eyes fall shut as he sank down into sleep once more.

* * *

**A/N: to aunteeneenah—I told only the truth: thou art the most faithful reviewer.**

**to greenpinapple—have patience, dear one, the battle comes soon. Good things to those who wait... (evil laughter here). And thank you so much for reviewing and following the story! So happy!**


	11. The Recruit and the Prison

**A/N: to aunteeneenah—yeah, I know it's kinda depressing... But not everyone can be a good guy, y'know?**

**to greenpinapple—thank you, thank you very much, but you can't rush the muse. It's the devil's muse as it is; the stupid thing likes to run away and make me hunt for it. But I will try to upload on a semi-regular basis.**

**to DrawnToDarkness—wow, thank you so much for the support. I hope I don't disappoint.**

* * *

"This is Lieutenant Lydon," said Wilder in a sharp voice, jerking his chin towards the uniform-clad woman that stood at his side. "Whilst you're human, she'll be the one to show you around here, tell you how we do things. Once you're a skinchanger, I'll have you transferred into another unit." He seemed incapable of saying anything in a normal tone of voice—every word he spoke was sharp or brisk or cold.

Lieutenant Lydon hardly looked a woman at all, small and petite and frail-looking, almost childish. The top of her head wouldn't reach Stephen's shoulder even if she stood on her toes. Inky blue-black hair was bound up in a tight French braid that fell between her shoulder blades. Her skin was lily-pale and unmarred by freckle or blemish, but her most striking feature had to be her eyes. Her eyes were golden, the colour of amber held up to the sunlight, framed in thick black lashes, full of burning intelligence.

"Hello, Lieutenant Lydon," Stephen greeted, holding out a hand to her, but yet again, he was ignored. She didn't even blink at him. He lowered his arm back to his side.

"You have your orders. I expect to see you both in training at 1500 hours," Wilder said.

"Yes, sir," replied Lydon.

"Yes, sir," Stephen echoed; a part of him rankled, taking orders from this man what barely knew him, but he was at least smart enough not to get flippant. Getting smart with a skinchanger soldier would end up with bones being broken—his bones. Once the captain strode away, he looked back at Lydon. _Hm. I'll have to find out her first name,_ he thought. "So…what first?" he asked, hands in his pockets.

She stared at him coldly for a moment, then turned on heel. "Follow me," she growled as she marched away, and as he followed after her, Stephen heard her mutter what sounded suspiciously like _'I'm stuck babysitting a bloody human…_'.

Stephen found something eerily familiar about her, as if he had seen her before. There was simply something about her that struck him as familiar…. "You're the owl I saw outside my window last night," he blurted in sudden realisation, and she whipped around to stare at him. He hadn't expected her to stop so quickly and had to hop back to avoid running into her. "You are, aren't you?" he asked.

Lydon paused and shifted her weight slightly. "I'd heard that there was a new recruit, a defector from the ARC, and I wanted to see if it was true," she replied at last, her tone carefully guarded.

"So it _was_ you," he said quietly.

She narrowed her eyes at him—they were exactly like her owl form's eyes, luminous yellow and rimmed with black, unblinking and inhumanly intelligent. "Follow me," she said. "I'll show you around. Don't touch anything, don't speak to anyone. Just be my shadow."

"Okay. Thank you, Lieutenant Lydon. What's your first name?" he asked.

One perfect black brow lifted. "I don't think so. Let's go, turncoat."

* * *

The ADD was going off.

Cutter's head jerked up from where it'd been resting in Jenny's lap, the dark-haired woman stroking his thick hair as she filled out paperwork and he worked out new equations for the time map. In an instant, they were both on their feet and walking down the corridor into the central hub. "Where is it, Connor?" the professor asked, pushing the doors open.

"Westhaven," Connor replied as his fingers flew across the keys. "I've heard of it before. Place used to be a prison until they got shut down. Now it's just an empty building. Creepy as hell."

Cutter nodded. "Good, you can give us directions. Which of you will be coming with?" he asked, looking over at the Daybreak team.

Since Stephen's betrayal, one of the witches or the skinchangers accompanied them on alerts as extra protection should Christine Johnson try and strike at them in the field. There were protective wards erected all around the ARC, encircling the entire perimetre, and more had also been set up at their homes. Most of Circle Daybreak now worked at the Centre, witches and skinchangers now working patrols alongside the SAS. It'd become somewhat commonplace to see a lynx or a jaguar or a pitbull or a German shepherd doing rounds with the soldiers. The armoury now looked like a cross between James Bond's personal collection and a medieval castle, with crossbows and swords and daggers and spears, certain weapons that hurt supernatural creatures, and they'd all been getting training in new fighting styles. Connor, it turned out, was shite at handling guns, but with a bow and arrow, he was Robin Hood; even Becker was impressed with his skill at archery.

"We'll come," offered Emily, walking over with Matt at her side. The two of them were attached at the hip it seemed, neither one without the other for any extended period of time. Today the curly-haired woman wore tight jeans, a black sweater, and a charc0al-grey jacket, her hair held out of her face with a black hair band; Matt followed close behind her in denim trousers, blue button-down opened over a white t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket; his snakewood daggers were strapped to each thigh.

Cutter nodded. "Good lass. Let's get moving, then. If the place really is abandoned, then we might not have to put up with any civilians about," he said as they hurried out the doors towards the car park.

At his side, Jenny agreed. "If there is, I'll say we've got evidence of illegal activity happening inside," she replied with a glance towards him, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. _That's my girl,_ he thought.

* * *

"Have you ever used a crossbow before?" asked Lydon as they stood in front of the tables of weaponry. The training room here was essentially a very large room that was otherwise empty except for the tables against the walls and the scarecrow-like training dummies mounted on posts. The floors were layered with mats to help soften the sometimes violent falls those in training experienced.

"Not really," replied Stephen as he studied the array of weapons laid out before him. It was a mix of modern and medieval, it seemed. There were rifles, shotguns, and pistols, but there were also swords, bows, and daggers. There was even a coiled whip resting on the table.

Lydon huffed and picked up a crossbow that looked as if it weighed more than she did, hefting the piece of kit like it was feather-light. "Well, you're going to have to learn. Bullets don't do much against us. It works on humans well enough, but skinchangers and nightkind, not so much." She turned, lifted the crossbow, and squeezed the trigger. Four bolts shot out of the crossbow and buried themselves in the chest of a well-battered training dummy nearly a dozen paces away.

Stephen frowned. "I thought you could only fire one bolt at a time with crossbows," he said in confusion.

"That's the European crossbow," Lydon answered. "They only fire one at a time, but they also have a lot more force behind them. This is the Chinese version. They've got more speed than punch. There's a magazine that reloads after each shot. See, with skinchangers, you've got to hit them quick and fast in order for them to go down and stay down." She set it back down, scanned the table for a heartbeat more, then reached out and picked up a slender, slightly curved sword. "This is a tsurugi," she said, balancing the sword in both her hands. It seemed wrong, a weapon so deadly in her small, delicate hands. Turning, she held the hilt towards him. "Try."

He hesitated, then grasped the hilt and lifted the sword. It was a tad heavier than it looked, but not as heavy as he thought it'd be. The silver blade shone with a deadly keen, and he knew that a single swipe could probably remove a limb. Stepping away from her, he swung and dipped the sword, hearing the wicked edge whistle through the air. "So this is what you lot use?" he asked.

"Like I said, bullets don't work well on us," Lydon replied. She picked up a doubled edged dagger, also slightly curved. The inside curve of the blade was smooth, but the outside curve was serrated. "This is standard for witches, called an athame. Most keep one tucked up their sleeve as a kind of precautionary measure. Nightkind most often use the tsurugi or other swords of the like, and witches stick with the crossbows. They don't like to get their hands dirty," she said with a note of distaste.

"And skinchangers?" he asked. "What do you lot use?"

"Usually?" Lydon grinned, though it was more tooth than cheer, and her golden eyes glittered with a predator's shine. "Our teeth. Or our claws. Whichever is more convenient," she added, lightly touching the blade of the sword in his hands; her nails had become curved and black, the talons of a hunting bird.

Stephen tilted his head slightly, eyeing her closely. After a moment, his lips curved up in a small smile. "Lieutenant Lydon…I do believe you and I are going to be rather good friends," he said at last.

* * *

"Whoa," said Jenny softly as they got out of the truck in front of the abandoned prison. When Connor had said it was a creepy place, he hadn't been kidding. It was huge and made out of imposing black stone, with small windows that were all heavily barred, surrounded by a high iron fence topped in deadly-looking spikes, encircling a bare, lifeless yard. It looked as if it hadn't been inhabited in years, with dead ivy crawling up the sides of the prison like spindly fingers. Even a fresh sheet of snow over the world couldn't make the place look any less scary. "And it's _inside?"_ she asked, glancing over at the young man.

Connor studied the handheld and nodded grimly. "Aye-aye, Capitan. Anomaly, dead ahead," he replied, pointing towards the doors of the prison. "Its elevation is higher than normal, so it's probably on the…" He tilted his head, doing fast calculations. "…third floor."

"Oh, joy."

* * *

Stephen planted the tip of the sword on the floor and leant his weight upon the hilt, grasping it tightly. Sweat trickled down his forehead and neck, and he could feel the burn in his muscles that signaled he would be sore as hell in the morning. Grinning, he looked up at Lydon. "You are quite something," he said with a grin; the skinchanger was barely sweating at all, having removed her uniform jacket and wearing a black vest that showed off her waifish form. In one hand, she held a pair of short, straight blades that she called kataras, twirling them with deadly ease.

She blinked, appearing surprised to hear a compliment from him, and she turned her back to him, placing the kataras on the weapons table. "For a human…you're better than a total amateur," she admitted at last.

"Was that…was that almost a compliment?" he asked, straightening up and setting the sword on the table.

Her yellow eyes glared at him so hotly he thought his skin might actually blister.

The door of the training room opened, and they both turned to look as Captain Wilder strode in, moving with that eerie animal grace all skinchangers possessed. "Ah, ahead of schedule, I see," he noted with a glance over the two of them. "I do hope you're not damaging the human, Lieutenant Lydon," he added with an icy glare towards her.

She didn't glare at him as she had at Stephen, only ducked her head demurely, even though he saw a muscle in her jaw tick. "No, sir," she said.

Wilder shifted his gaze to Stephen. "There is a party leaving the ARC," he announced. "I've sent a quad to meet them there." He was watching Stephen closely, apparently gauging to see how he would react.

The tracker looked at the sword on the table. "Well, damn," he said softly. "When will I become a skinchanger? I'd have liked to go with."

Standing a step away, cleaning off the kataras, Lydon gave a soft laugh.

* * *

"Okay, this place is just downright eerie," Cutter muttered as he walked down a corridor. The silence in the building was so utterly complete that each footstep seemed to echo, and his words sounded impossibly loud.

Jenny pushed open a door with a squeal of rusted hinges, peering into the empty room. "Agreed," she said. They had split up into pairs to check each wing of the prison. Connor had decided the anomaly was on the third floor, but all the thick concrete walls distorted the handheld's signal, so they had difficulty pinpointing it. Cutter and Jenny were checking the west wing room by room; Emily and Matt had the east, Connor and Abby took the north, and Becker and his men were sweeping the floors above and below to ensure no creatures had escaped to higher levels.

He glanced into another empty room then sneezed multiple times at the rush of dry, dusty air that rushed out at him. Cutter shook his head. "Dammit," he muttered, then nearly jumped out of his skin as Jenny's warm arms wound around his waist.

"Bless you," she breathed near his ear, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He smiled as he laced his fingers into hers, squeezing her warm hands. "Thank you." He turned in her arms, slid his own around her waist, and drew her in closer. As he began considering what they could do in this short time they had alone, a kaleidoscope glimmer of light caught his eye. "Jenny," he said, reluctantly pulling his arms from her waist, "look over there. The anomaly."

They approached the light, and he pushed open the door. Shimmering and sparkling, the anomaly occupied the entire far corner of the room, just below a window; weak winter sunlight fell across it, causing the pieces of fractured 'glass' that swirled around it to sparkle brighter. "It's beautiful," Jenny murmured quietly, leaning against his side.

"So are you," he agreed, and she dug her elbow against his ribs playfully. His gaze drifted to the floor; his smile disappeared. "Jenny. Look down. The dust has been disturbed." Layering every surface, including the floor, was a thick layer of dusty grime, having gone without washing for years. And in the dirt on the floor beneath the anomaly had been stirred, small tracks marring it. That could only mean one thing—something had come out of the anomaly. He stepped forward, careful not to trod on the small prints, and crouched down to study them. "More than one creature," he said. "Probably not too big, looking at the size of them…. Think they've gone home?"

"Uh…Nick?"

He glanced up at her, and Jenny pointedly looked down at the ground. The tracks on the floor lead straight out the door they'd just walked through, disappearing down the hallway. He sighed. "No. That's a 'no', then," he sighed, then pulled out his mobile to warn the others.

* * *

Matt's mobile vibrated in his pocket, and he quickly pulled it out, flipping it open to read the text. It was from Cutter: _Found the anomaly, west wing. Creatures have come out and are somewhere about. Keep your eyes open._ He glanced over at Emily. "Cutter's found the anomaly over in the west wing," he said. "There's more than one creature come out, and they're somewhere in the prison."

She nodded. "Okay, then."

As they began advancing forward once more, Matt's ears picked up the faint whisper of claws on stone, the sound of another animal's breathing. He gestured for Emily to be still, expanding his senses to trace this new presence. He could hear several hearts beating quickly, and the smell of ancient, prehistoric air lingered in the air. Moving slowly and stealthily, he crept forward towards the sound, took out his tranquiliser pistol, and peered around the corner into the next room. It had once been a kind of break room, it seemed, and there were the creatures inside, nosing around the cabinets and drawers; a few had gnawed open the abandoned cans of food and were lapping up the contents. They looked like big hairless dogs than actual dinosaurs, walking on four legs, only about as tall as Matt's knees, with slender muzzles and huge golden eyes, and the long, curved teeth protruding from its mouth proclaimed them carnivorous, too. They were lean and wiry, with reddish-brown hides and black paw-like feet; a fast count put their numbers at eight—no, ten. Two more emerged from behind the counter, huffing.

He quickly lowered his tranquiliser pistol once more—he didn't have near enough darts to take down all ten of the pack. Slowly edging away as to not make any noise and attract their attention, he grabbed hold of Emily's wrist and pulled her away from the roomful of creatures. Once they were a safe distance away, he took out his mobile and dialed Connor's number.

It rang only once. _"Hello?"_ asked the young man's voice, slightly staticky.

"Conn, it's Matt. I've found the creatures. They're in the break room of the east wing. Two metres long, four-legged, about knee-high, and definitely carnivorous. Look a bit like hairless dogs, more canine than reptile," he said in a low murmur.

There was a long pause, and the Irishman knew that Connor was racking his brilliant mind for the information he had stored away in there. He was a living encyclopaedia of all things dinosaur, it seemed. _"A big hairless dog? Sounds like a Lycaenops to me. Permian-era pack hunters, wicked smart. The name means 'wolf-face' because they were thought to be more like dogs than lizards. Matt, you best be careful. Lycaenops could bring down prey up to four times their size, and they've got a septic bite, with bacteria all over their teeth like a Komodo dragon."_

"Okay, thanks. We'll stay here and keep an eye on them, you and Abby go fetch Cutter," Matt said softly.

_"Aye-aye, captain."_ The line went dead as Connor hung up.

Tucking the mobile back in his pocket, he glanced over at Emily and smiled; she grinned back.

* * *

Jenny looked up from the doodle she was absently drawing in the dust with her fingertip as Cutter's large hand lightly touched her shoulder. "That was Connor," he said, looking down at his mobile screen, reading the text. "Matt's found the creatures. Lycaenops, most likely, over in the east wing. Which means that—" He gestured to the anomaly through the window that looked into the next room. "—leads to the Permian era."

She nodded. "So we probably ought to head over there to help," she said, patting the tranquiliser pistol strapped to her thigh, and he nodded as well in agreement. As they turned towards the stairwell, Jenny felt her othersenses prickle and burn, and she whirled around just in time to see a witch with a murderous look come 'round the corner at the other end of the corridor. "Get down!" She dropped to her knees, yanking Cutter down with her, and green witch fire exploded against the wall; had they been a second slower in ducking, they would've been enveloped in the flames. He swore profusely under his breath as they scrambled on hands and knees into another room, huddling back into the corner behind the door.

Outside, they heard the sound of heels on the stone floors, and several foreign voices speaking. "Where did they go?" hissed a woman's voice.

"Find them," snapped another, also a woman. Witches, no doubt. "Kill the skinchanger if you find it, but High Priestess wants the vermin alive."

Cutter's jaw tightened in silent rage. _Vermin. That's what they think of human beings. Vermin…like rats or cockroaches,_ he thought. Jenny wrapped a hand around his bicep and squeezed. Her nails had become the wolf's curved black claws, and she dug them into his skin in silent warning to keep quiet. They could hear the witches moving about in the corridor, kicking open doors and growing ever closer. Jenny inched away from him and shifted into her wolf form, crouching in the shadows beside the door, tensed to spring. Footsteps came closer…the door burst open with a hard kick, almost coming right off its rusted hinges.

The witch didn't even get a chance to scream aloud as the she-wolf leapt, a streak of silver and white, powerful jaws clamping tight on the woman's throat. Only a wheezing gurgle escaped her lips. Cutter hastily clamped his hand over her mouth, dragging her further inside so they couldn't be seen. A gleam of silver flashed, and he nearly shouted aloud as a flash of white-hot pain lit up his side. He seized the witch's wrist, twisting the long, double-edged dagger out of her fist. Jenny bit down harder, crushing the woman's windpipe. Her heels beat a rapid, panicked staccato on the floor before falling silent. The she-wolf dropped the dead woman and shifted back. Once more human, Jenny wiped the blood off her mouth with one sleeve. "Y'alright?" she whispered.

He glanced down at his side where the witch had cut him; it was a small wound, really, a thin, narrow cut. She had only grazed him. "Yeah. Don't even need stitches," he replied, picking up the knife where the witch had dropped it.

Voices drifted down the corridor. "Where the hell are they? They can't have gotten out," said the second witch's voice.

"Think they went through the…the, erm, anomaly, Cosette?"

"Doesn't matter if they did or not. You know our orders. C'mon, let's go grab Val and get the others," replied the first, Cosette. Val had to be the dead witch.

"Where did she get to, anyways?"

Before either of them could move, there was a rustle of movement, a snarling animal growl, and a reedy, feminine scream of pain. "Thistle!" screamed Cosette loudly. There was a flash of green light, followed by another animalistic screech; the stench of burnt flesh filled the air. Cutter and Jenny hastily scrambled out into the corridor. What looked like a giant Komodo dragon had its jaws clamped down on the thigh of a purple-haired woman, flesh and bone grinding between its powerful teeth; the beast was half-mad with pain, a long burn seared down one flank. Another woman lay on the floor in a small puddle of blood, missing most of her throat; her eyes were open yet unseeing—dead. The purple-haired witch was screaming and trying to pull free, but the creature refused to let go, worrying its great head back and forth like a dog.

Cutter drew out his pistol and fired at the creature, a tranquiliser dart embedding itself in the beast's shoulder. Jenny sprinted forward, grabbed the witch by the arms, and forcibly _yanked,_ jerking her away from the woozy dinosaur's jaws. Cosette pulled a long dagger from up her sleeve and slashed at the PR manager; Jenny had to leap back to avoid having her throat slashed open. Staggering a step away, the purple-haired woman took something out of her jacket and crushed it in her fist. There was a loud _crack,_ an acrid scent filled the air, and Cosette disappeared into thin air, the only evidence of her being there a dribble of blood on the floor.

Cutter looked over at Jenny, shaking his head. "This is madness," he panted, then looked down at the creature unconscious on the floor beside the other dead witch, Thistle. It was far too big to be a Lycaenops, but if the anomaly did lead to the Permian era, it was probably a Titanosuchus, which was essentially a large, prehistoric version of the Komodo dragon. "Let's…let's get this thing home," he said, feeling slightly mournful at the sight of the terrible burn on its side. A wound like that, it might not last the night, but it at least deserved to die in its home.

Jenny nodded silent agreement, leaning down to grasp its long, stiff tail, and with his help, they pulled it back through the anomaly, leaving the Titanosuchus in the Permian where it belonged. When they walked back into the prison, she looked over at him. "Let's find the others. Now."

He nodded and took her hand in his own. "Let's go."

* * *

Connor pushed a hand back through his thick hair as he made his way down the corridor in search of Abby; since the wing was so huge, they had each decided to in the middle and work their way to the ends. However, since they knew where the anomaly and the creatures were, there was no point in keeping on the search. Cutter had said they ought to meet up with Matt, make sure the Lycaenops didn't escape. "Abby, where are you, love? Matt's found the creatures," he called, voice echoing slightly in the empty corridors. This place gave him the creeps something fierce. As he peeked around a corner, hoping to catch sight of his girlfriend—he simply couldn't say it enough—a scream shattered the silent air.

His blood went cold. "Abby!" he shouted, turning and running towards the sound of the scream. "Abby, where are you?!" He heard the soft _tack-tack_ of claws on stone and spun, expecting a Lycaenops to come 'round the corner, but even as he thought about it, he knew it was wrong. If it'd been a creature, his othersenses wouldn't be prickling like they were. A skinchanger prowled towards him; it was a bloodhound, a large, black-brown creature. Blood stained its muzzle, and he could smell Abby on its fur. Its hackles lifted, teeth bared.

Without even thinking, he dropped the tranquiliser—it wouldn't do much against a skinchanger anyway—and shifted forms; Akela's mind surged forward and melded into his own. As impossible as it was, the bloodhound actually looked startled, a look of human-like shock coming to its face. He was easily twice as heavy as the hound, four inches taller than it at the shoulder, and far stronger. Connor felt the thick folds of his ruff lift, hackles raising, and his lips drew back from his teeth, a deep snarl thundering from the depths of his chest.

The hound lunged for him anyways, foolish beast, and he sprang forward. The smaller canine crashed into him, jaws snapping at his throat, but it had no chance. Akela was a predator from the Arctic tundra, bred in a harsh, unforgiving territory. He was no dog, a domesticated animal that'd been weakened by thousands of generations of selective breeding. Without a thought, following Akela's instinct, Connor closed his jaws over the back of the hound's neck and bit down with all the bone-crushing force he had. The taste of blood exploded on his tongue, and the bones were crushed into gravel. The hound yelped and squirmed, trying to worm away, but he held fast. Finally, with a hard shake, he heard its spine _snap_. The skinchanger shuddered and went limp, twitching slightly.

Connor snarled furiously as he shook the dead hound, its head flopping on its broken neck. He dropped the beast, licked the blood off his muzzle, and loped back into the room. Instantly, his hackles went flat, and his ears lay back against his head. Abby lay on the floor, hardly breathing, face ghostly white; her stomach was a mess of torn fabric, shredded flesh, and fresh blood. _Oh, God, no,_ he thought, shifting back and scrambling over to kneel on the floor beside her. "Abby? Oh, Abby, please wake up," he implored, voice cracking as he touched her pale cheek; her skin felt icy cold under his fingers. She was in shock. "Help! Someone, help us!" he shouted, voice echoing in the cold silence of the prison. He felt tears well up in his eyes, utterly helpless.

Boots slapped the concrete, and then Matt came skidding around the corner. He took in Abby's bloody clothes and Connor's tearful expression; he swore softly.

"W-what can I do? She's dying," the student said, voice cracking.


	12. Blood and Reinforcements

**A/N: c'mon, like I would ever kill Abby! I was just jerking your chain with the whole dramatic cliffhanger ;) **

* * *

The Irishman swallowed hard, looking at the injury. The blond was already in shock, fading soon. Even if there was an ambulance outside the door, she wouldn't make it to a hospital unless…. "Your blood," he said as he knelt down beside them.

"What?" asked Connor, looking up at the other skinchanger with tear-filled eyes.

"Skinchanger blood has incredible healing properties. I've used it to heal Emily before. It will save her," Matt explained hastily. It was one of the ways he had survived the fighting pits when he was held captive by the nightkind. After every round of battle, the survivors would exchange blood with each other in an attempt to recover from the numerous injuries they'd received.

Connor glanced down at Abby, bit his lip in hesitation, then lifted his arm, peeled back his glove, and bit down on the tender skin of his inner arm. He hardly even felt it, even as blood instantly welled up under his new sharp teeth. Before it could heal, he placed a hand behind Abby's head, lifted her up, and held his arm to her mouth. "Please, Abby, drink it. Please," he implored, voice breaking.

She mumbled incoherently, lips parting as she felt the warm liquid on them, and both men saw her pale throat move as she swallowed. Right before the men's eyes, her wounds began to close up, torn flesh knitting back together like magic. Connor let out a breath he hadn't known he held, stroking her pale hair with one trembling hand. "That's it, love," he encouraged, lifting her closer.

Her lashes fluttered, then parted. Abby pulled her lips away from Connor's arm and tilted her head up to look at him, reaching up to touch his cheek and brushing a stray tear off his skin. "What're you cryin' for?" she mumbled quietly, and he gave a hitching half-sob, half-laugh, hugging her close to lifted her head, looking down at herself. All the terrible wounds the skinchanger hound had inflicted had healed up and disappeared, not a scar to be seen, not even a mark left; if not for the blood on her torn clothes, there was no evidence that she'd ever been injured at all. Abby's blue eyes went wide with awe, and she touched her stomach as if making sure it was real. "Wow. That's some quality stuff you've got," she remarked in a weak voice, looking up at Connor.

He gave a weak little giggle. "Don't ever scare me like that again, okay?" The student clutched her tightly, squeezing her against his chest like she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. Matt felt a soft smile come to his lips as he watched the young couple, heads bowed close together—their hair near-white blond and India-ink black, almost like the yin-yang symbol. He'd always believed in the soulmate principle, the idea that there was one perfect match out there for everyone, and it was quite clear to him that these two shared that bond.

Abby lightly patted his back. "Ooh, gently now, Connor. You're a bit stronger, remember?" she said, and he quickly loosened his grip before he accidentally hurt her. The blond got to her feet, and Connor followed her as if attached with string, one hand hovering at her back. "Where'd the dog go?"

His face flushed. "I—erm, I killed it," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in shame.

She reached up and patted his cheek, and he tilted his head against her palm, meeting her blue gaze with his sloe one. A world of understanding passed between the two of them in that simple look. "It's okay," she said gently, then shivered. "Could I have your coat? Kinda cold." She awkwardly tried to pull the shredded edges of her bloody shirt together. Connor shrugged off his duffel coat and wrapped it around her, the coat almost swallowing her in fabric. "Let's get the hell out of here already."

* * *

"Three witches and a skinchanger?" Jess asked, and Cutter nodded wearily. They sat together in the break room of the ARC, the entire team looking rather as if they'd all been put through the wringer. Between the witches trying to kill him and Jenny, the skinchanger nearly eviscerating Abby, and then attempting to wrangle the savage pack of Lycaenops had worn them out. The young woman shook her head, curls swaying. "A quad, then."

"A quad?" repeated Abby.

Jess nodded slowly. "Yes. In a time of war, we—the witches, I mean—operated in basic teams of four. Three witches and a skinchanger to protect them. Christine Johnson likely sent them as assassins. _Merde,_" she whispered quietly, twirling a stray curl of hair around her fingers. "This is madness."

Sitting beside Cutter, Jenny lightly squeezed his leg as the young woman unknowingly echoed the professor's very words from earlier, and he laid his hand over her own, lacing their fingers together on his lap. "Jess, we are going to have a much larger problem on our hands than Christine Johnson. If we can't stay focused on this job, if we can't handle the anomalies without looking over our shoulders for assassins, then the chance that a creature will get loose and hurt someone is going to get much larger," he said sternly. "I know it's a lot to ask, but there has got to be a way to keep these bloody people off our tail."

"Yes, I know," Jess replied. "The only think I can think to do is take this matter before the Council, but that…that would result in a much larger conflict. See, Professor, Christine Johnson has skinchangers, witches, _and_ nightkind working for her. Whilst we are not enemies, it can never be said that the three major factions of the Real World have ever been the closest of friends. Taking this to the Council would turn it into an official matter, and working in the government, I'm sure you can understand that making things official often leads only to more red tape. Right now, we have a contained matter, right here in London, but the Council controls the _entire_ Real World, worldwide. Do you understand?"

Reluctantly, Cutter nodded agreement. He could understand that dilemma. "Looks like we're going to have to figure this one out on our own, then," he muttered under his breath.

Emily's head came up suddenly, curly hair bouncing every which way. "Perhaps not," she said, and they all glanced towards her. "Danny...do you still keep in contact with the Holmeses?"

"Yeah, I do sometimes, why?"

A small grin pulled at her lips. "Perhaps our problem is that we have not been thinking big enough, Jess. Christine Johnson is preparing for some kind of war, pulling together her troops. Perhaps we ought to be doing the same."

Danny's ginger eyebrows shot up. Surely he wasn't hearing this correctly. He leant forward in his seat, elbows on his knees as he stared at the dark-haired woman in front of him. "You want to bring them...here?" he asked in a slightly faint tone of voice, sounding stunned; the others couldn't help but wonder exactly who—or _what_—the Holmeses were to get that kind of reaction out of him.

Emily only nodded firmly, her expression set in stone, completely serious. The copper sat back with a huff, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "Oh, Goddess, you're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"We wouldn't need the whole clan, Danny. Just Rowan and Robin would be enough," the witch replied.

He gave a weak, humourless laugh. "Just. Just. I like you you say 'just' Rowan and Robin. There is no such thing as _just_ Rowan and Robin Holmes," he muttered, more to himself than them. Looking at her with a small, weary smile, he shook his head fondly. "You certainly are thinking big, aren't you?"

"It's the one thing Christine wouldn't expect," Emily replied.

"Hell, _I_ wasn't expecting this," Danny shot back, then groaned. "Okay, fine. I'll be gone for at least a fortnight, then. Think you can hold down the fort until I get back?"

She gave him a winning smile, her teeth pearly white. "Of course we can."

Danny pushed a hand back through his hair and mumbled unintelligibly under his breath. "Fine, fine. I'd better head off now, then," he said, then got to his feet and walked out of the room, leaving the rest of them in silent confusion, even Jess.

Matt didn't say anything, only reached out and lightly touched Emily's arm; a silent ripple of communication passed between witch and familiar in that small touch, a transfer of thought without words at all. She didn't speak aloud, either, only glanced back at him. The Irishman's mouth curled up in a grin as he shook his head, forcing down laughter even as she giggled softly.

"Who are Robin and Rowan?" asked Jess at last. Even she had never heard of them before now, and she was curious as to what could get a reaction like this out of her friends.

Emily had to fight to keep her voice level. "You'll see," she said between giggles; Matt buried his face in her shoulder, laughing.

* * *

Sarah saw Danny walking past, and she jumped to her feet, hurrying to catch up with him. "Hey," she greeted, falling in step beside him, though she had to walk a little faster to keep up with his long-legged stride. "Where you off to?"

The copper glanced down at her and gave a weak, dry laugh. "Oh, Emily's sent me off to recruit some...reinforcements," he replied.

"Really? Sounds fun. Where are you going to find these reinforcements?" she asked. He didn't look entirely pleased with his new assignment, and she was curious as to why. Actually, if she had to say, he looked a little faint, really, which was saying something, considering that he had once faced a flock of 10-foot-tall Terror Birds that looked like ostriches from hell.

"Sgòr an Lochain Uaine."

Her eyebrows shot up. "I do beg pardon?" Sarah asked.

"It's a mountain in Cairngorm National Park," Danny replied, then with a hesitant air, he added, "In Scotland."

She could hardly believe her ears. She stopped dead in her tracks, grabbing him by the arm to stop him as well; of course, he was much stronger and could've kept walking, but he turned to look at her anyways. "Scotland? You get to go to mountain-climbing in Scotland whilst the rest of us are stuck here chasing dinosaurs and fighting the Wicked Bitch of the West?" she asked incredulously, planting both hands on her hips as she glared up at him, having to tip her chin up to meet his eye.

Danny, at least, had the good sense to look somewhat chagrined, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched like a scolded schoolboy. "Well, it's not exactly a vacation, Sarah," he protested. "I'm going to be trekking through cold, snowy mountains day and night, rounding up a bunch of—" He cut himself off before he could say it aloud, biting his tongue. He really didn't want to tell Sarah what exactly he'd be looking for in the mountains for two reasons. One, because she likely wouldn't believe him, and two, because he didn't really want to say it aloud and make it reality. "It's not gonna be a trip to the beach, okay?" he said.

The Egyptologist had noticed the way he suddenly cut off, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What exactly are you going to be searching for?"

"There's a family of...people...that can help us," Danny replied, choosing his words carefully. "But they only live in the bloody mountains, so I've got to go find them. There isn't exactly any mobile coverage out there."

"Why can't someone else go?" she demanded.

"Because I'm the only one here that knows them personally. Emily's only heard _of_ them, and they do not respond well to strangers," he answered. _Not responding well to strangers_ was a bit of an understatement. The last person to intrude on the Holmes clan had been thrown down the mountainside. If said intruder hadn't been a skinchanger, they would've been killed; even so, near every bone in the poor sod's body had been broken. By being a friend of the family, Danny was one of the few outsiders with a free pass into the mountains. Sarah was still eyeing him up sceptically, so he went on, trying to make her understand. "Sarah, these people can help us. Y'know how strong I am?" he asked, and she gave a wary nod. "Well, imagine me...times twenty. Okay? They are the only ones in the world that can take on skinchangers _and_ nightkind. We'll need them here."

She stared up at him for a moment longer, then crossed her arms over her chest. "Alright, fine. You can go...but I'm coming with you," she replied.

Danny blinked in shock. Surely he hadn't heard that. "You what?"

"I. Am. Coming. With. You," she said, enunciating each word into a separate sentence to ensure he got the message. "I'll not let you have all the fun, Quinn."

"I—you—" Danny spluttered.

"Glad that's settled. So you go settle things with Lester, and I'll go pack," she said brightly, then stood on her toes and pecked his cheek. "Thanks, Danny. See you later." She walked on down the hall, leaving him behind.

He just stood there in the corridor, trying to puzzle out what in the hell had just happened.

* * *

**A/N: and it's off to Scotland with Danny and Sarah to find the mysterious Holmes family! Dare you guys to guess what kind of magical creature they are. **

******I know it's a bit short, but I've got a lot of flak on my plate right now, so I hope this'll hold you over until I can finish up the next chapter.**

**On the downside: aunteeneenah, DrawnToDarkness, if you think Stephen's bad now, you're really gonna hate him in the next chapter...**


	13. En Brochette

_En brochette—a French term, usually applied to food, meaning to be skewered or served on skewers._

* * *

"Hart's training is progressing very well," said Christine Johnson as she watched through the glass windows of her office. From here, she had the perfect vantage point to see into the training room below. Lydon, the owl skinchanger, had been in charge of training the human man, and it seemed that he was quite the dab hand at weaponry. Guns, swords, knives, crossbows, nothing seemed to be beyond his range of mastery. He had yet to show any sign of hesitation in joining their cause, and despite being human, he was quite popular amongst the soldiers.

Helen grinned as she leant against the wall, using the tip of her knife to clean her nails. "I told you he'd be a good fit," she said, a note of smugness in her voice. "So, when will you make him a skinchanger?"

Christine hummed softly under her breath in contemplation. That _was_ the question, wasn't it? She didn't want to do anything rashly, but she also had to time it carefully. Powerful as she was, the magic required to create a skinchanger was exhausting; she would need at least a week to recover fully from it. As she watched Hart and Lydon practice hand-to-hand combat in the training room below, a sudden thought occurred to her. She needed a test, something to make sure that he was entirely committed to them, even facing his former teammates. There could be no hesitation on the battlefield, so she would make sure there was no risk of him faltering.

Turning around, she opened the door that led into her spell room. It was spacious and dark, and a distinct sense of foreboding hung in the air, a near tangible thing. Christine waved a hand, and the candles set around the room burst into light, casting a dim, flickering illumination about the room. Set in the corner of the room, almost forgotten, was a bow and a quiver of arrows. She had been in archery classes her entire life—every witch worth her athame knew how to work a bow—and when she was a child, she had won medals for her skill. Now that she was a High Priestess, though, she had bigger targets than a cloth bull's-eye. She pulled an arrow from the quiver. It was black, arrowhead to flight feathers, and it felt cold to the touch no matter how long she held it.

Walking out of the room, she set the arrow on her desk. Even Helen, nightkind she was, shied away from the shaft, eyeing it warily. "I will make Hart a skinchanger...as soon as he passes a little test," Christine Johnson answered with a cold, deadly smile.

* * *

"Why is it that anomalies have to continually appear somewhere cold and dark and snowy?" Cutter asked. "I mean, why can't an anomaly show up somwhere with central heating for once?" It did seem to be true. Lately, the anomalies had been appearing in odd, distant places, usually outside, and usually at night—an empty cow pasture, a decrepit barn, the middle of a shut-down airport landing strip, and now in the midst of a small forest. Considering that it was the middle of winter, and there was constantly snow, the relative safety of an isolated location did not make up for the hours spent in calf-deep snow and frigidly cold air.

"Oh, come off it, Nick," Jenny replied, hopping out of the truck. She looked severely underdressed for the current weather in only jeans and a longsleeved t-shirt. "You're from the Highlands anyways, aren't you supposed to be _used_ to snow?"

He narrowed his gaze at her. "Well, we can't all be living space heaters like you," he shot back. "And it's because I'm from the Highlands that I hate snow. Blame it on one too many days having to walk to school in December because the roads are too iced-over for buses. Hope Quinn is having fun on his little 'vacation,'" he added with a snort of laughter; Danny and Sarah had left for Scotland on their little recruitment mission three days ago, and if his memory served, it'd be nice and frigid there.

Jenny came up behind him and slid both arms around his waist. "Don't worry, love. I'll keep you warm," she murmured.

Taking out the handheld anomaly detector, Connor shook his head in a scolding sort of way. "And Lester tells _me_ to keep it professional," he snorted, and Abby giggled. Standing by the truck, Emily and Matt both laughed softly; Jess had opted to stay at the ARC checking on the wards, but they all knew it was just an excuse to spend time with Becker. Captain and witch had developed a bit of a mutual crush on each other, and seeing as how the betting pool on Connor and Abby had ended, the soldiers were now laying bets on when Jess and Becker would get together.

"Oh, sod off," Cutter shot back. "Besides, Lester's not even here."

"Yeah, whatever you say, Professor. Anomaly's that-a-way." Connor gestured towards the trees ahead.

As they started out through the dark trees, Jenny slipped one arm through Cutter's and leant her head against his shoulder; cold as it was, the professor did have to admit it was rather beautiful. The full moon bleached the landscape, painting everything in shades of white, silver, grey, and black. The snow seemed to glow, and where icelets had frozen on pine needles, the trees appeared bathed in silver fire. The skies were clear, crystalline stars winking brightly overhead. If not for the fact that they were out searching for a rip in time that led to a prehistoric epoch, he'd consider it quite romantic, actually.

"There it is," said Abby, breaking Cutter out of his thoughts. They stepped forward into a large clearing in the trees; an anomaly shimmered and sparkled in the air above the snow dead-centre, casting odd reflections upon the pristine white snow.

Reluctantly pulling away from Jenny, he stepped forward, clicking on a torch to scan the ground. One good thing about snow was that it made seeing footprints wonderfully easy. "I don't see any tracks here, so it doesn't seem like anything's come out yet. How long has the anomaly been open, Connor?"

The young man checked his watch. "'Bout twenty minutes."

Abby approached the anomaly cautiously. "You can feel the warm air coming from the other side. Any creature that comes through probably won't stay long, seeing how cold it is here," she noted. Lizards, even the enormous ones, didn't like temperatures to get too low, lest they freeze.

Cutter clicked the torch off and shoved it in his pocket. "Either way, we ought to stick around for a while, see if it doesn't close. If not, we'll have a couple soldiers stand out here and get frostbite instead," he said, and Jenny elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "I mean, stand out here and guard the anomaly," he corrected.

Emily and Matt decided to head out into the forest and make a round of the perimeter. The movement would keep them warm, and they would know if anyone was trying to sneak up on the team. Connor leant up against a tree, took out a battered paperback novel, and began to read; Abby snuggled into his coat for warmth, and he put an arm around her back.

"What are you going to do when we get back?" Jenny asked after some few minutes of silence.

"Me? I'm going home to bed," Cutter replied, shoving both hands in his pockets.

She raised an eyebrow. "You know Lester will want the paperwork filled out by tonight."

"Lester can stuff it. I haven't been home in the past 24 hours," he answered, and she gave a snorting laugh, shaking her head fondly. He chuckled quietly, then glanced back up at her. "Jenny—" Before he could say anything else, though, a snowball exploded against his back, making him jump in surprise. Scowling, he whirled around. Connor and Abby were staring right back at him, both of them wearing wide, childish grins. The book had vanished, and their hands were hidden behind their backs, so he couldn't identify which one was the culprit...or what they held in their hands, either. From the mischievous glitter in their eyes, though, he didn't have to think too hard. "Don't...you...dare," he warned.

"What?" asked Abby in a faux-innocent voice.

"You know perfectly well wha—" He didn't get the chance to finish, because Jenny scooped up a handful of snow and shoved it down the back of his jacket. "Son of a—God, that's bloody cold—" he yelped as the icy slush melted down his back, twisting away from her. "Traitor!" he snapped.

She laughed brightly; Cutter narrowed his eyes, bent, scooped up a handful of snow, and flung it at her. Jenny squeaked and danced backwards, but then another snowball hit her square in the face. _"Connor!"_ she shrieked indignantly; the young man burst out laughing. Suddenly they were like a pack of schoolkids, throwing snow at each other and laughing. The anomaly was still there, shimmering brightly in the air and adding a near-magical light to the clearing. Never mind that they were all adults with jobs and homes, for a moment, they were like children enjoying a snowy day out of school. Cutter let out a half-shout of surprise as Jenny suddenly leapt on his back, making them both stagger and fall into the snow. Laughing, Abby walked over to them, leaning down to help them to their feet.

"Oi, look," said Connor, pointing from where he sat in the snow, and they all turned their heads. The anomaly shimmered and rippled brightly for a few seconds before it collapsed inwards on itself, disappearing into thin air and leaving no trace behind. As Connor stood up straight, brushing snow off his trousers, he grinned happily at the professor. "Well, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" he asked, a dimple appearing in his cheek, giving him that rather endearing lopsided look.

A loud hiss cut through the air, followed by a sickening _thud,_ and the young man staggered a step backwards, a look of shock replacing his grin. Abby screamed, the sound shattering the following silence. It took a heartbeat for Cutter's shock-numbed mind to realise what he saw. An arrow had struck Connor in the chest with such force that it punched clean though his body, burying into him up to the dark feathers of its fletching; the arrowhead protruded from his back like a bizarre spiny growth. A terrible dark stain began to spread across his clothes. The young man's face drained of colour, a near-comical expression of disbelief on his face. He sank to his knees, crumpling over on himself, head bowed forward. Abby screamed again, running forward and falling to her knees beside Connor. She put her arms around him before he could fall over, sobbing wordlessly. With a low groan, the young man leant against her, gasping for breath.

Cutter lurched to his feet and turned around, searching for any sign of the archer, but he saw only the naked trees, the clean white snow, and the nighttime sky. Jenny shifted into her wolf form, threw her head back, and howled, a clear, ringing note that hung in the air like the ring of crystal. Less than half a heartbeat, and then another howl answered her, growing closer.

Suddenly Matt burst into the clearing in his wolfhound form, tongue lolling out and panting heavily; Emily was only a moment behind him. She looked to Connor, gasping for breath, blood steaming in the frigid air. "Oh, Sekhmet help us, you lot are hard on yourselves," she cried. She hurried forward and knelt in the snow beside the young man. "Abby, listen to me," she ordered, her voice hard and brisk. "Take hold of the arrow, and when I say, you must pull it out. You'll have to pull very hard. He will scream, and it will hurt, but you must get it out or I won't be able to heal him. Understand?" Emily's voice had taken on a sharp note, like the bark of a drill sergeant.

Tearfully, the petite blond nodded, reaching out and grasping the part of the arrow that stuck out of Connor's back. Her stomach roiled sickeningly, feeling the wooden shaft slick with his blood in her hands.

Gripping the shaft in one fist, Emily snapped off the fletching at the end of the arrow. Connor was barely conscious by now, but she knew that a skinchanger in pain could be as dangerous as any wild animal. "Jenny," she said sharply. "Come here and hold his arms." The silver wolf sprang forward and was in an instant a woman; Jenny was pale-faced and shaking, but she put her arms around Connor, pinning his arms against his sides. "Abby, pull out the arrow."

Taking a deep breath, Abby screwed her eyes tightly shut and pulled as Emily pushed against the end protruding from his chest. Connor let out a terrible keening wail, his body arching in agony, and only Jenny's arms banded about him kept him from writhing at the pain of it. The arrow came free with a hideous noise, and Abby tossed it aside as if it were a snake. Feeling helpless, Cutter had to turn away lest he be sick.

Emily reached down the front of her parka and pulled off her necklace, a thin golden chain with chips of Isis bloodstone on it, the most powerful purifier of blood. She wrapped the chain around her fist and laid one hand over Connor's wounded chest, the other over the matching wound in his back, reaching for her power. Very few witches had an affinity for water magic as strongly as Emily Merchant did, and it made her one of the strongest healers. All true healers were water at heart. Water soothed burns, could save a man from dying of thirst, but most people forgot about the undertow what drowned and killed. It was a life-saver and a life-taker. As a warrior witch, she embodied the paradoxal nature of water entirely. Her hands held a weapon as readily as they held medicines. She called upon that power now. Blood was just another kind of water. _All men are made of water,_ she thought. Silently, she invoked the spirits of healing, asking for the power to heal this man. A shudder passed through her as the flow of energy passed through him into her, and she could feel a ghost stab of pain in her own chest, making her grit her teeth. Matt whimpered and rested his muzzle on her shoulder, completing the healing circle. She kept her hands where they were, the flow growing cleaner and smoother with each pass until she pulled away and broke the connection, exhaling forcefully.

Connor had passed out by then, slumped over limply in Jenny's grasp. His skin was almost transparently pale, a stark contrast to the ink-black hair that fell in his face and the terrible dark bruises around his eyes. "We have to get him back to the ARC," Emily said. "I've only stopped him from bleeding out, but it'll take more than this to heal him." She had felt it the moment she touched him—the arrow hadn't been any normal shaft. It'd been cursed with dark magic that would work in him worse than any poison if it wasn't removed, and soon.

Supported between Jenny and Cutter, they pulled the unconscious young man back to the truck parked at the road. Abby sat in the backseat with him, hugging the young man to her like a lifeline. Emily stood in the clearing a moment longer, staring at the snow, pristine white now splashed with vivid crimson; she rested a hand on Matt's back, curling her fingers into his wiry fur. "Oh, Matt," she whispered softly. "What are we going to do?"

* * *

From their vantage point atop a high hill, hidden from sight, Lydon watched the witch and her familiar leave the clearing, breath steaming in the cold air. Her golden eyes had watched the scene unfold below with a predator's intensity. "The skinchanger's unlikely to survive the night," she said, turning to look at her tyro as he absently pulled his gloves back on, scrubbing his hands together for warmth. "Good shot."

"Told you I was good," replied Stephen Hart, stringing the bow over one shoulder. "I'd have hit him through the heart, but I thought it'd be better to have him suffer first. She _did_ say the arrow was cursed."

They had been sent out here to follow the ARC team at distance, though they were forbidden to make direct contact. High Priestess had given them strict instructions. Once the team found, he was to kill one of them, his former teammates, as a test to ensure he truly was on their side. He had even been given a shaft cursed with dark magic. Stepping forward, Lydon tilted her chin up to look at him closely. She had never quite realised it before, but he was actually…remarkably…quite attractive for a human man. Odd, considering that humans had never appealed to her before. Perhaps it was the hunter in her recognising a fellow predator in him. He certainly did possess the savage streak that most humans lacked entirely, the soft little vermin. "I do believe it's time I made my report to High Priestess," she said softly, staring at him. "You're ready to join the ranks, Mr. Hart."

* * *

Abby gently ran the damp flannel over Connor's forehead and cheeks, wiping off the clammy sweat on his skin. He was so terribly pale. She had never seen anyone so pale—anybody alive, that is. Combined with the mess of blue-black hair that framed his face, he looked like some kind of unearthly wraith sent to haunt the land of the living. _Oh, love, what have we gotten into?_ she thought, taking one of his hands in her own.

The door whispered open, and Cutter came up to her side. "How's he doing?" he asked in a low murmur, arms folded across his chest as he stared down at the still, unmoving form of his student.

"Hasn't woken up yet," she replied in just as soft a voice, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. When they'd gotten back to the ARC, Emily and another witch had spent nearly an hour working their healing magic on him, but it was still touch-and-go. Whoever had shot Connor had imbued the arrow with some dark magic that worked like poison, only worse. Matt had tried to reassure Abby that skinchangers were 'resilient little buggers', but she could see the doubt in his eyes. Even resilient creatures would have trouble bouncing back from being skewered through the chest by a cursed arrow.

The Scotsman reached out and placed a large, warm hand on her shoulder. Abby sniffled, biting her lip as she leant against the older man's side; he slid his arm around her, surrounding her in warmth and the smell of aftershave and spices. To her shock and chagrin, her vision blurred, and tears made hot tracks down her cheeks as she choked on a small sob. "Oh, child," Cutter said softly, rubbing his hand over her arm, and Abby buried her face in the lapel of his jacket, hand fisted on his shirt, sobs shaking her shoulders.

"I almost lost him," she whispered raggedly into his chest. "I love him so much, and I almost _lost_ him." Her heart throbbed with a knot of raw emotion. It was a cocktail of worry over Connor, fear of his dying, and utter love for him; the sheer depth of her love for the errant young man both terrified and thrilled her at the same time. Seeing him on the brink of death tonight had made her aware of just how interwoven their souls were; if Connor had died, she wasn't certain that she'd be able to survive that kind of loss, that deep of a wound.

Cutter hugged her close, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe the tears off her cheeks. "There now, young one, it's alright," he murmured softly, rubbing circles on her back with one hand. "Everything will be okay. We're going to be fine. Hush, now, shh…"

Abby squeezed her eyes tight shut as she burrowed closer against the professor, wrapped in the fatherly presence he exuded. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried like this. All her life, she'd fought tears because they seemed a sign of weakness, but this team was so much her family that she felt safe enough to finally lower her shields. When her sobs finally subsided, she sat up, pulling out of his comforting embrace. There was a wet mark on his jacket from her tears, but he didn't seem to mind, gently pushing her fringe back out of her face.

"Better now?" Cutter asked, and she nodded, wiping her face. Smudges of mascara came away; she had to look an absolute fright. He gave a soft laugh and pulled a silk handkerchief out his pocket. "Here, try this."

Abby gave a weak giggle. "Aren't you a gentleman?" she sniffled, taking the kerchief and wiping the runny makeup off her face.

He gave a little shrug. "What can I say? Mum wouldn't have a barbarian in her house."

"Mummy's boy," she teased half-heartedly.

"Oh, hush it," he replied, then rested a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be okay, Abby. I know he will. Just wait. He'll be back to annoying the piss out of us in no time at all," he said, smiling fondly as he said it. "Okay now?"

Abby nodded.

"Good lass." He pressed a fatherly kiss to her forehead and stood up. "I'll leave you two alone," he added, nodding towards Connor.

The young man shifted restlessly on the cot, and all at once, her attention was so focused on him that she hardly even noticed Cutter leaving the room. "Connor?" she said softly, grasping one gloved hand in both her own.

He let out a low raspy groan, a small frown pulling his brows together. His lashes fluttered slightly, then parted to black slits in his pale face. "Abby?" he mumbled thickly.

"Hey, love," she whispered, smiling as she stroked his hair back out of his face. "How are you feeling?"

He tried to take a deep breath and winced. "Like someone was dancin' on me chest," he croaked. "How bad's it?"

"Pretty bad," she admitted, throat tightening almost painfully. "But Emily said if you woke up tonight, it was a good sign. You ought to pull through just fine." Leaning forward in her chair, she pressed her forehead against his, noses brushing, breath shared between them. "Don't you ever frighten me like that again, Connor Andrew Temple. Never, ever, _ever_ again," she whispered raggedly.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am, Abby," he replied just as softly, then lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers.

* * *

Christine Johnson appraised the human man in front of her as she slowly ran a whetstone along the edge of her athame, sharpening it to a deadly keen. Lieutenant Lydon had given her the full report as soon as they returned. Hart had taken down one of Cutter's little sycophants, Temple, and the runt was unlikely to make it through the night. It was everything she could've hoped for. "You're certain about this?" she asked.

"Completely, High Priestess," replied Hart, hands clasped behind his back.

"Excellent." Stepping forward, she reached up and plucked several strands of hair from his head; he didn't even wince. She went back to the altar and set the hair on the stone surface beside the rest of the ingredients needed to create a skinchanger. "Let's begin, then."

* * *

**A/N: yeah, it seems poor Stephen has fully crossed over to the Dark Side of the Force. :(**

**On the upside, next week is a vacation week, which means I'll have 7 school-free days to dedicate to nothing but writing and updating the next chapters. :)**


	14. Sgòr an Lochain Uaine

"So, Danny, you haven't told me what exactly it is we're looking for out here," Sarah noted as they packed up the gear they would need on their little trip into the mountains. He really _hadn't _told her anything except that they were here to look for reinforcements to their cause; if she didn't know better, she'd say that he was purposefully avoiding the subject.

Even as she said it, he shifted his weight uneasily. "Well...it's hard to explain," he replied slowly, every word hesitantly said.

She placed both hands on her hips and leveled a searching look at him. "Danny Quinn, let's not forget that I work for a government facility what hunts dinosaurs and creatures from the future that show up through rips in the space-time continuum. Trust me, there's nothing harder to explain than _that._ So whatever it is, just tell me," she said.

He looked up at her again and sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Sarah, please…just trust me on this, okay? It'll be easier if you just see it," said the copper.

Gritting her teeth, she resumed packing up the knapsack. This whole man-of-mystery thing was beginning to get on her nerves, but it seemed like he was bound and determined not to tell her what they were looking for. So, for the time being, she would let it go. But if he thought that she would just take his word for it, he had another thing coming.

* * *

Sarah was going to kill him. Slowly and painfully. When Danny had said that whatever reinforcements they were looking for lived in the mountains, she had honestly thought he meant that meant some kind of camp or village, but _no-ooo._ They had spent nearly the entire day hiking through these damn mountains searching, and now that the sun had gone down, it was frigidly cold. She felt aching and sore from walking so much, she was desperately hungry, and she couldn't feel her toes anymore, it was so cold out. _He didnt think to bring a bloody map? Directions?_ she thought as followed after the bullheaded man. _Oh, wait, that's right, men don't know how to ask for directions. He decided 'what the hell, I'll just wing it.'_ Oh, yes, she was going to kill him. "Danny!" She hurried after him, rubbing her hands together for warmth, though it seemed a vain effort. "Danny, let's head back for the night. It's too bloody dark to see anything out here, and you might not feel the cold, but I'm freezing," she called, but he wasn't moving, still staring off ahead as if she hadn't said a word. Clenching her teeth, she marched forward and punched one shoulder with her numbed hands. "Danny, are you even listening to me?" she snapped.

"Someone's coming," said Danny.

"What?" She turned her head, following his gaze. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. A small spot of green light was bobbing towards them, barely visible in the darkness. Sarah squinted, trying to make it out. The light grew brighter the closer it came, and she could just make out an indistinct figure holding onto the light, though she couldn't tell what it was. She stared hard at it, trying to will the details into visibility. All at once, the figure emerging from the darkness became clear, and she felt her stomach drop into her toes and her heart lodge somewhere in her throat. Both hands clutched Danny's arm in a death grip, too scared to even move.

It was a giant. Two of them actually, one shorter than the other. They looked like human beings, except they were some thirteen or fourteen feet tall, with rangy-yet-proportionate bodies. They both wore leather vests and trousers that only came to about mid-calf, barefoot and sleeveless, no hats or gloves or scarves; it seemed they were impervious to the cold. The taller of the two held up the lantern that cast a greenish light over them.

"Hoy, there," said Danny loudly, having to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. "It's me, Danny Quinn. Remember me?"

The shorter of the giants crouched down, putting him somewhat closer to their heights. He had a mess of thick red hair that seemed to go every direction and eyes that appeared orange in the greenish illumination of the lantern. "Danny!" the giant said in a voice like boulders grinding together, though he pronounced it more like 'Day-knee'.

"Yeah, it's me, Dena. Can we come inside? It's cold out here."

The taller giant leant closer, a frown pulling at his features as he held the lantern closer. "Who dis hurr?" he rumbled, eyeing Sarah up warily as if he expected her to sprout fangs and a tail at any second.

Danny placed a protective arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer to his side. "This is Sarah, Wex. My friend," he answered.

Dena slugged Wex on the shoulder with a punch that would have shattered human bone like toothpicks, but the other giant only grunted in irritation. "Day-knee be clan friend. Come inside cavurn," he said sharply.

"Thank you, Dena," Danny called. As the two giants straightened up and started walking, he followed, drawing Sarah along with him even though she had a hard time remembering how to move her legs. Noticing her star-struck expression, he lowered his voice and said, "I told you it was hard to explain, now didn't I?"

They practically had to jog in order to keep up with the enormous strides of the giants, and Sarah was quickly out of breath and beginning to sweat beneath her parka. Dena and Wex led them towards what looked like a sheer rock face. It was like a magic trick—of course, it probably _was_ magic, now that she thought about it. One minute there was nothing but a wall of dark rock in front of them, the next the mouth of a great cave yawned wide to greet them, the mountain swallowing them up. She gripped Danny's arm a little tighter as they were led deeper into the cave. If she'd thought it was dark outside, in here there wasn't a wisp of light except for the lantern that Wex held. The darkness felt like a living thing, pulsing and crawling about her, smothering the sound of their footsteps into a deafening silence. Danny didn't look at all alarmed by this, though, so she tried to keep herself calm, but she was definitely slipping. Just when she was about to lose it completely and run out screaming, they rounded a bend in the cave and were suddenly enveloped in warmth, light, sound, and the smell of cooking meat. Sarah's jaw dropped open in awe.

They had entered a cavern so enormous it seemed impossible. The ceiling rose so high she could barely make it out except for the fuzzy shapes of the hundreds...or perhaps thousands...of stone stalactites that dripped down like stone teeth. It stretched on so long she couldn't see the other side, either. There were giants everywhere, of all size and shape and age. There were several fires burning in several different places around the enormous chamber, in pits that'd been gouged out of the stone floors, and the giants seemed to all congregate around these different fires. The flames alone weren't enough to illuminate the cavern, though, and she was confused as to why everything was so well-lit...until she looked closer at the walls. Studding the walls of the cave, in the floor, the walls, and even the stalagmites and stalactites, were glowing stones that radiated their own soft luminance. If she listened closely, underlying all other sounds was the sound of rushing water—an underground river, perhaps, somewhere further inside the cave. "What is this place?" she asked.

Danny was shrugging off his parka and shoving it in his backpack; it _was_ much warmer in here. "This is the home of the Holmes clan, one of the last surviving clans of cave-giants in all the UK," he replied.

"Let me guess. _They _are our reinforcements?" Sarah asked as she took off her own parka.

"Yep," he answered, straightening up. "These are probably the only creatures in the Real World that can take on skinchangers and nightkind together."

She swallowed hard. "No kidding," she mumbled.

He glanced over at her, and when he took in the slightly uneasy look on her face, he reached out and placed a comforting hand on her back. Even though she still felt cold, his hands were warm, soaking through her sweater. "Don't worry, Sarah. Cave giants are the smallest species of giants, and they're only dangerous if you provoke them. Most times, they're quite friendly, just not too bright. They've got big hearts and little brains. Just follow my lead, and you'll be fine."

_They're the smallest species?_ Sarah thought in disbelief, looking up at the 14- and 15-foot tall frames that inhabited the cavern. If this lot was small, she didn't even want to know what a big giant looked like. Tying her parka around her waist, she followed after Danny as he walked through the cavern; several of the giants turned to look at them, openly staring.

Dena led them up to one of the hearths furthest back into the cavern. There were five other giants sitting around the fire: an old male with grizzled white hair, identical twin males with dark curls, a red-haired female, and a small child. Well, small compared to the adults; the giant child was maybe two inches shorter than her. "Looken 'ere!" declared Dena, gesturing with one arm. "Day-knee come t' home-cavurn, see clan an' brung a lickle froind wit 'im."

The old one lifted his head slightly to peer at them, a crooked smile at his lips. "Sat dowrn hurr, Day-knee," he said, gesturing. "Who yer froind, annymal-man?"

"This is Sarah. Sarah, this is Dena's family—his father, Tagg, his brothers, Rowan and Robin, his wife, Ika, and their son, Dunn," said Danny.

"Hello," she greeted, a tad nervous as she sat down on one of the woven grass mats beside Danny. The former copper and the grey-haired giant began conversing together, but she couldn't follow a word of what they were saying, their accents were so thick and peculiar.

Instead, she looked over at the two others that'd been named Robin and Rowan. They identical twins, it looked like, with wild blue-black curls that went every whichway and eyes such a pale shade of blue-grey they almost looked silver. The nearer of the twins—she couldn't tell if it was Rowan or Robin—leant forward to study Sarah with silvery blue-grey eyes; a gleam of strange, inhuman intelligence shone in his pale gaze. He tilted his head to the side. "Why yer no' smull loiken Day-knee, Miz Zura?" he asked, pronouncing her name just as oddly as he pronounced Danny's.

She blinked in surprise. What is it with these supernatural beings all having this odd ability to _smell_ her? "Ah, because I am a human."

"Hurrmin? Loits and loits of hurrmins be cloimbin' up an' dowrn th' mounterns, but zey nuvver foind us in home-cavurn. Safen in hurr," said giant, patting the smooth wall of the cave with one huge hand.

It took her a moment to sift through the thick, curious dialect of the giants. "Yes, it is a very…very nice cave," she agreed with a nod, and he responded with a wide grin, pleased with her answer.

After a moment, the other twin tilted his head at her. "So yur no' annymal-man loiken Day-knee?" he asked.

"No, I'm not a skinchanger. I'm just human," she replied.

The dark-haired giant nodded his large head thoughtfully. "Robin an' me trois talken to hurrmins on mounterns afore, buts allaways runs 'way from uz. Not knows why. We no' wants hurt dem, just wan' talks wit dem," he said in a mournful voice, the small frown of confusion on his face telling Sarah that he clearly didn't understand why anybody in the world would run away from him. She was really starting to see what Danny meant when he described the clan as having big hearts but small brains. Rowan was a prime example: he was quite kind and a bit childish in ways, willing to make new friends, but not quite able to understand why a normal human being would run away from a pair of 14-foot-tall giants lurking around a mountain trail.

She didn't know how long they went on talking like this, but soon she noticed that around the cavern, other families were banking the hearth fires and curling up on more of the woven grass mats to sleep. Tagg said something that must've ended the discussion, because Dena stood up and banked the fire down to low burning embers and small flames. As the other giants moved to their own places to sleep, she and Danny unrolled their sleeping bags on the floor nearby. Once she was sure nobody else was looking, Sarah punched him in the shoulder as hard as she could. Of course, it probably didn't hurt him at all, but at least he had the good sense to wince. "You bastard, why the hell didn't you tell me about this?" she hissed quietly.

"Would you have believed me?" he replied in just as quiet a voice, rubbing his shoulder. "C'mon, Sarah, don't be mad..."

"Y'know, I might not have believed you, but you could've given me _some_ warning. I mean, just a heads-up or something," she grumbled. After a moment, she glanced back over at him. "So how exactly do you plan on getting back to London with these reinforcements, Danny? I mean, we can't exactly go walking around the middle of London with a pair of 15-foot-tall giants."

The copper offered her a small smile. "We'll use the Underground," he said; when she gave him a confused frown, he went on and explained. "I don't mean the tube, Sarah. I mean _our_ Underground. It's this huge network of underground tunnels that go all over the UK. There's magic cast on it to keep it hidden from detection, and it's how the more...unusual members of the Real World get from place to place without attracting unwanted attention. Once we get everything sorted out, we'll pack up our gear, head down to the Underground, and start legging it back to London. That's why I said it'd take me a fortnight: it's a long ways to walk, even for a giant."

Sarah had to admit it—that was a pretty good plan. But she wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. Turning over in her sleeping bag so her back was to him, she muttered, "Fine, but I'm still mad at you."

His soft chuckle seemed to echo in the quiet of the cavern.

* * *

Come morning, she saw that the others were already up and about, including Danny. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she muttered at him.

The copper glanced over at her and smirked. "Tried. You hit me and told me to piss off."

Sarah narrowed her eyes, briefly considering whether or not to throw one of her boots at his head, then decided against it and started packing up the rest of her kit. Near the mouth of the cavern she saw the twins loading up a small cart. Well...it was small by their standards, but it could easily seat twenty people. She figured that it was their own supplies for the trip back to London through this mysterious Underground. And then she noticed that only Robin and Rowan looked ready to travel. "Will none of the others be coming with?" she wondered as they stood and made their way across the cavern towards the giants.

"Well, a few others may come along with, but it's their choice. Most, like Dena, have children and wives to look after," replied Danny as he packed up his gear in the knapsack. He picked it up and tossed it into the cart. "Robin and Rowan have always wanted to come to London with me, and they don't mind helping me. Besides, I think Rowan might've taken a bit o' a loiken to yer, Miz Zura," he teased, affecting the giant's accent.

"Oh, sod off," she snapped at him, and he chortled.

* * *

**A/N: I won't have the chance to update for a few days because of Thanksgiving plans involving my very large and obnoxious family, so I hope that this will hold you lot over until then. ****Also, I know I wrote the giants with a very...unusual dialogue, but in my mind, that's how they talk. If anyone needs clarification on what they said, just say so, and I'll provide translations. :)**

**Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!**


End file.
